"Are you going to try to play Benson's trick, then?" asked the inventor, reappearing on deck.
"I'm inclined to think," replied the boatbuilder, "that I am. It seems like too good a thing to miss."
On board the "Pollard" the cabin lights burned late that evening. Once the plan invented by Captain Jack was explained to the others all hands turned to, in great glee, to make preparations.
Ships of any size always carry, as a part of the cruising supplies, a stock of paints and brushes. The submarine craft was so provided.
Jack caused to be brought from one of the lockers a can of prepared white paint. This was thinned with oil and tested for the business in hand. Then the best brush for the purpose was picked out. To this was fitted a long handle. Two short sticks had to be spliced to make a handle of sufficient length.
"How are you on lettering, Captain?" guffawed Mr. Farnum, while preparations were thus being made.
"Nothing extra," Jack admitted. "But I guess I can at least make legible letters."
All was in readiness long before need came. At about quarter past eleven o'clock that night the "Pollard" noiselessly slipped from her moorings. At that time none of the searchlights of the fleet at anchor happened to be turned toward the submarine boat.
Ventilators were taken in, the manhole cover was closed, lights were extinguished, and, the next instant, the "Pollard" began to sink. Only one light burned aboard, and that came from a small lantern in the engine room, where Hal Hastings crouched over the electric motor, keeping strict track of the revolutions. While Jack Benson steered strictly to compass, Hal counted the revolutions until the number had been reeled off to carry the submarine the estimated distance under water. Then Hal shut off speed, while Eph Somers passed word to the young captain.
"Let her come up slowly, until I give the word," called down CaptainJack. "Don't rush with the raising."
So compressed air was turned into the diving tanks, slowly expelling the water therefrom. Very slowly the "Pollard" rose. Jack, watching intently, knew the instant that the conning tower's top was above waves.
"Stop," he called down. Just ahead, about sixty feet, lay the seaward side of the battleship "Luzon's" great gray hull. With his hand on the electric speed control Captain Jack moved the submarine in until she lay alongside the big battleship.
With the greatest stealth the manhole cover was raised by Hal and Eph. Captain Jack, in the meantime, was rapidly shedding his clothing, until he stood forth in a bathing suit only. Clad in this garment he slipped out over the top of the conning tower. The platform deck was under water, but Benson touched it with his feet.
"No hail from the deck above," he whispered to Hal. "Now, pass me the paint and brush like lightning."
The brush was passed out, the paint can being rested on the edge of the manhole, where Hal steadied it. Taking up a good sopping of paint on the brush, Captain Benson rapidly sketched, on the gray side of the battleship a letter "P" some six feet long.
Then, with rapid strokes, he swiftly finished the entire word:
"Pollard."
As the "Luzon" lay on the outer edge of the anchored fleet, and the submarine lay alongside on the seaward side, there was no danger of any betraying searchlight being turned on the perpetrators of this huge joke.
"It's all done," whispered Jack, chuckling softly, "and that wonderful watch officer above hasn't hailed us or passed the word for the marine guard!"
"That man McCrea will claim it wasn't done during his watch," whisperedEph. "Paint on the exact present time. It's just 11.33."
So Captain Jack, again chuckling, and with a fresh brushful of paint, wrote the present time on the battleship's gray side.
All in a twinkling, afterward, the submarine, her manhole closed, dropped down beneath the waves. She was soon back at her anchorage, lying on the surface of the water as though this handy little craft had not just been engaged in perpetrating the biggest naval joke of the year!
Early the next morning there was, as might be imagined, a big stir of excitement in the fleet.
First of all, one of the fleet patrol launches discovered the legend lettered in white, on a gray background, on the Lizon's side.
As soon as the matter was reported aboard, the executive officer, after ordering a side gangway lowered, and going down close to the water's edge for a look, sent for the different watch officers of the night.
Each was emphatic in the belief that the thing did not happen during his watch. Lieutenant McCrea was one of the most positive.
"But, Mr. McCrea," urged the "Luzon's" executive officer, "the time, '11.33 P.M.,' has been lettered on the ship's side with great distinctness."
Still, that lieutenant was positive that the outrage hadn't been perpetrated during his deck watch. He had kept much too vigilant a watch for that.
While the questioning of the watch officers was going on the "Luzon's" captain appeared. He quizzed Mr. McCrea unmercifully, and that officer of the early night watch began to look and feel most uncomfortable.
"There's but one thing to be done, first of all," stated the "Luzon's" commander, Captain Bigelow. "Send a boat over to the 'Pollard' to ask the people there iftheyhave any explanation to offer."
When the "Luzon's" launch came alongside, Mr. Farnum, expecting the visit, assured the ensign in charge that he would go to the battle ship at once to explain matters. Mr. Farnum did go. Captain Bigelow listened with an intensely grave face. Lieutenant McCrea seemed to be in the depths of mortification, and his face was very red.
"There is but one thing to be done, now, Mr. Farnum," declared Captain Bigelow, severely. "We shall have to appear before Admiral Bentley, on his flagship, as soon as he will receive us. You must repeat your explanation to him."
This Mr. Farnum was quite willing to do. Before the boatbuilder finished with his explanation to the fleet's commander there was a very decided twinkle in Admiral Bentley's sharp old eyes.
"I accept your explanation, Mr. Farnum, that it was all a joke," smiled the admiral.
"Of course," Jacob Farnum made haste to add, "having perpetrated such a hoax, I shall charge myself with all the expense of painting out the objectionable lettering."
"But I am not sure that that will be necessary," Admiral Bentley laughed. "The truth is, Mr. Farnum, your hoax on Mr. McCrea has taught us a most excellent and valuable lesson about the sort of other work that a submarine might do against a battleship at anchor. The lesson is worth far more than the cost of the paint. Indeed, I shall not have the lettering on the 'Luzon's' side painted out until other officers of the fleet have been able to examine such a striking proof of the value of submarines. Yet I am extremely sorry for the feelings of Mr. McCrea this morning."
In truth, Lieutenant McCrea was in for a most unmerciful tormenting by his brother officers. If there was one thing on which the lieutenant prided himself, it was upon the strictness of his deck watch. So the jest, jibes and quips of his brother officers stung him deeply.
"Was the hoax your idea, Mr. Farnum?" asked Admiral Bentley.
"No, sir; I am sorry to say that I am not often as brilliant as that."
"Then whose joke was it?"
"It was the scheme of Captain Jack Benson, the 'Pollard's' present commander."
"I have heard of your boyish captain," smiled Admiral Bentley. "He must be a very resourceful young man."
"You're right in saying that," replied Farnum, with warmth. "Benson is altogether about the brightest boy I've ever met. For that matter, all three of the boys are unusually keen."
Admiral Bentley consulted a memorandum book that lay on his desk, before he went on:
"Mr. Farnum, if you've nothing in the way, I shall be extremely glad to have Mr. Pollard and yourself at luncheon at one o'clock this afternoon. But I shall feel much disappointed if you do not also bring with you your youthful captain, Benson."
Farnum promptly accepted, with great delight. This all looked as though the "Pollard" would figure handsomely in the admiral's forthcoming reports to Washington.
Ere the morning was over all the officers and men of the great war fleet were laughing at Lieutenant McCrea. The newspaper correspondents with the fleet got hold of the yarn, of course, and sent stories to their journals that helped to make the fame of the "Pollard" and of those who handled her.
As for McCrea, he kept out of sight all he could. It was months before his brother officers in the Navy would let him hear the last of the joke that had been played upon him.
"Has it hurt us any?" repeated Jacob Farnum, when he returned to the submarine. "It has helped us wonderfully. And, Jack, my boy, you're to lunch with the admiral to-day!"
In fact, that joke of Jack's was heard of in the halls of Congress later on. The significant fact of it all was that, while the "Pollard" had been manoeuvred for the successful perpetration of the joke, neither of the other two submarines with the fleet was "handy" enough to be used in quite such a neat trick.
When a United States rear-admiral entertains guests at luncheon aboard his flagship, the affair is a stately one. When our three friends appeared at table there were several naval officers in attendance.
"I have been laughing a good deal to-day, Captain Benson, over the joke sprung on us last night," was Admiral Bentley's greeting. "It was cleverly carried out, and with a great deal of skill in seamanship as well."
"It wasn't intended, sir, to be so much a joke as a demonstration of what our boat can accomplish," Jack replied, modestly.
"I haven't lost sight of the practical side of the affair, I assure you," rejoined the admiral. "But I am afraid I have wounded one heart—McCrea's."
"Then I am very sorry," replied Jack, quickly. "I had hoped he would feel as much like laughing as anyone."
"Mr. McCrea might feel more like laughing, if it weren't for the fact that his brother officers insist on doing his laughing for him," chuckled the admiral.
The talk now turned upon the "Pollard's" construction, which the inventor explained, while Jacob Farnum threw in a few words now and then. Captain Jack had the good taste to remain silent during this discussion. Admiral Bentley asked many questions, appeared deeply interested, and promised to make a thorough trip of inspection aboard the submarine.
"The time may come, of course," said the admiral, musingly, "when a flag officer will have to make his headquarters aboard such a little craft, for the day may not be far distant when battleships will be too cumbrous and too costly to be risked any more at sea when a nation is engaged in war."
"That's our captain's view of the possibilities," nodded Mr. Farnum.
"It will be a sad blow to some of us old salts," laughed the admiral. "It isn't likely to strike me, of course. I shall be retired, and done with the service, before the big battleship becomes as useless in war as a ferryboat. But you, Captain Benson, will very likely live to see the day when the battleships will be sold for freight steamers. By the way, my young friend, what is your age? Sixteen. Why, you are young enough to enter Annapolis. With your bent for things naval, why don't you try to interest your home Congressman in appointing you as a cadet?"
"If the battleship is to go, sir," replied the youngster, "or even if the submarine is to become a vastly more important craft, it seems to me that I shall be seizing the biggest chance by staying right with Mr. Farnum and Mr. Pollard. The greatest naval man of the future may be the all-around submarine expert."
"There, again, I am inclined to think you are right, Captain Benson," nodded the old admiral, thoughtfully. "My, but I often wish I could look forward, as you may, to being alive fifty years from now—living to see what sea warfare will be likethen!"
While Jack Benson was listening or talking, he became conscious that one of the noiseless stewards waiting at table was eyeing him keenly, even if covertly, at such times as he approached.
The steward in question was brownhaired and smoothly shaven, a man of about fifty years of age who carried himself with much dignity. When Jack got his first good look at this man, the submarine boy felt certain that the steward's hair was dyed to its present color. There was something altogether familiar about the man's look, too, that puzzled young Benson.
Now, during a lull in the conversation, and between courses, this steward approached the table to replace young Benson's water-glass, which he had just filled.
As the steward reached out to set the glass down Jack wheeled, looking straight into the man's eyes.
The steward returned the look and paled, then—
Crash! The glass dropped from the man's fingers, breaking to fragments on the cabin floor.
With a softly-muttered word, the luckless steward bent, picked up the pieces of glass and beat a hasty retreat, followed by a heavy frown from the chief steward.
Then, all of a sudden, it flashed through the boy's mind where he had seen this man before.
Leaning toward Jacob Farnum, the submarine boy whispered:
"You've been trying hard to find Grace Desmond's fugitive guardian."
"I don't know what I wouldn't give to come up with that rascal!" muttered the boatbuilder fervently, his eyes blazing.
"Then I guess you're going to have your wish," continued Jack Benson."The man who dropped the glass is—Arthur Miller."
Uttering an eager cry, his fists clenched, Jacob Farnum started up from his chair.
"What's wrong?" demanded Admiral Bentley, looking up quickly.
"I—I beg your pardon, sir," cried Mr. Farnum, though lowering his voice, "but I want a good look at the steward who has been attending to this end of the table."
"Nothing will be more simple," replied the admiral.
Just at that moment another steward entered the room.
"Ask that new steward to come here," directed the admiral.
The man hastened away in search of his mate.
"Pardon me, but is there any unusual reason why you wish to see that particular steward?" asked the admiral, in a low voice.
"The only reason, sir," replied Mr. Farnum dryly, "is that my friend, Benson, is certain the fellow is identical with the defaulting guardian of a young woman at present employed in my office. He is believed to have taken the last half-million dollars remaining of her fortune away with him into hiding."
"A half million dollars!" gasped the admiral.
"If this steward is the man we think he is, then his right name isArthur Miller," finished the boatbuilder.
"Why, I remember that case. I read of it in the newspapers," replied Admiral Bentley. "Jove, gentlemen, but I hope your guess is a correct one. There must always be a satisfaction in catching so great a rogue so easily."
Only those at the admiral's end of the table had heard this dialogue.Other guests present continued eating, or chatting with their neighbors.Other stewards were entering and leaving in the discharge of theirduties.
Some time passed. Farnum was fidgeting, though he strove to conceal the fact. Jack looked quiet, but his heart was thumping.
"Steward Dugan!" called the admiral, rather sharply, and the man stepped over quickly.
"I sent Hecht after that new steward," declared the admiral. "Hecht hasn't come back. Find him on the jump and learn his reason for the delay."
In something like a minute more both Dugan and Hecht returned.
"I couldn't find Dudley, sir," reported Hecht. "I've looked for him everywhere that he ought to be."
"Then find the first officer on duty that you can, and, with my compliments, ask him to report instantly," ordered Admiral Bentley.
In barely more than a jiffy a young lieutenant of marine stepped into the room, saluting the admiral.
"Lieutenant, a new steward known as Dudley is being sought for. Order the guard at the side gangway to let no one overboard, unless he is certain that the one seeking to pass is not Steward Dudley. Then have the ship searched thoroughly for Dudley. When found, bring him just outside that door, under guard, and send in word to me."
Again the lieutenant saluted, then hurried from the room. The whole thing had been, ordered so quickly that few of the lunchers guessed that anything out of the ordinary was taking place. Admiral Bentley took up knife and fork, turning his attention to a dish that had just been laid before him.
The marine lieutenant was soon back.
"I regret to report, admiral," he murmured, in a low voice, "that the sentry at the side gangway states that Steward Dudley went over the side and started off in a shore boat at least five minutes ago. He displayed a paper which he said was a telegram you had ordered sent in a rush."
"Great Scott!" uttered Jacob Farnum, laying down knife and fork in a tremble. "Then, by flight, the fellow confesses his identity. Admiral, we feel that we simply must get ashore without the loss of an instant. That rascal must be found."
"Certainly," agreed Admiral Bentley, rising. "Do not lose an instant."
Turning to the marine lieutenant, he added:
"My compliments to the officer of the deck, and ask him to see that these gentlemen have a shore boat placed at their disposal without any loss of time. Or, that they have any facilities they may wish for going to any part of the fleet. No thanks, gentlemen. I appreciate your need of haste and wish you every success."
The half-curious eyes of many persons followed these three guests, as the boatbuilder, the inventor and the young submarine captain hastily left the room, followed by the marine lieutenant.
As soon as the admiral's order had been transmitted to him, the lieutenant in charge of the deck ran to the side gangway, looking for a shore boat.
"Just our confounded luck when we're in a hurry," he muttered. "The only boat I can get is the one that just took Steward Dudley ashore. See, there it is over yonder, leaving the pier. It will be here within five minutes."
"Then I thank our lucky stars," cried Captain Jack, pointing, "for here comes our own good boat, and we can take it, instanter, if you'll permit it to come alongside, Lieutenant.
"Certainly," replied that officer.
Hal Hastings was at the deck wheel, in charge of the boat. He had just taken a party of sightseeing naval officers back to their ship, and was on his way to the "Pollard's" moorings. He caught sight of Benson's signals, and, slowing down the speed, ran neatly in alongside of the battleship's gangway platform.
In another twinkling the trio in haste were aboard their own boat.
"Better hurry below," advised Captain Jack. "Ship the ventilators and I'll get inside, close the manhole cover and handle the boat from the conning tower. Then, if Arthur Miller is watching us from the shore, he'll think we have officers aboard and are manoeuvering to show off the boat."
"Arthur Miller?" gasped Hal, in astonishment.
"Down below with you, Hastings," replied Jacob Farnum, pushing him gently. "When we've time to talk we'll tell you."
When, therefore, within sixty seconds, the "Pollard" left the flagship's side, she was equipped for diving. A casual observer would have believed she was about to do so with some inspecting party of naval officers.
As he sat in the conning tower Captain Jack steered the most direct course for the pier to which the supposed Miller had gone in the flagship's shore boat.
In order to do this, the young captain had to cut across the bow of a battleship that had just gotten under way. There was plenty of searoom for this manoeuvre, so Captain Jack did not hesitate.
Once past the bows of that battleship, however, the young submarine captain's heart gave a mighty bound.
For, just beyond, was another battleship, also under good headway. The "Pollard" was between the two. To go ahead meant a collision with the second battleship, while to reverse speed meant to back into the battleship just passed.
To turn and run between them in either direction might have been feasible, but the battleships, seeing the trouble of the little submarine, were sounding conflicting signals.
It was a situation that had to be met and solved in a second.
Jack Benson's heart seemed to stop beating; he felt ill, and a cold perspiration beaded his face all at once.
"Hold fast!" he roared down the stairway.
Then he did the only thing that could be done in a second.
Without waiting to shut off the gasoline power, he reached out for the conning tower controls. Like a flash, and with high nervous energy, he operated the mechanism that would fill the diving tanks in an instant.
In rushed the water, faster than it had ever done before. Down dived the "Pollard" like a lump of lead. To the startled onlookers on other ships she seemed almost to stand on her nose. Those on the decks of the two nearest battleships saw the "Pollard's" propellers uppermost of all, and revolving fast.
Then out of sight went the little submarine. Those below in her cabin and engine room had been pitched forward on their faces. Captain Jack fairly sprawled over the wheel.
Down went the little boat to a depth of some seventy feet. Then Captain Jack had the presence of mind to bring her to an even keel. A couple of hundred yards he ran under water. Then, shutting off the motive power, he called below to turn the compressed air slowly into the water compartments.
"For I want to rise mighty gently," he called down, in explanation. "Then, if we come up under some craft's keel, we won't hurt them or ourselves."
By this time the deck rails and rigging of many a naval vessel were crowded with officers and men, all anxious to know the fate of the plucky, or foolhardy, crew of the submarine.
A few moments passed. Then the conning tower emerged from the water. Next, the boat appeared, and rode at her proper amount of freeboard over the water.
What a deafening din of cheers filled the air. Men, everywhere, were waving uniform caps. Four of the big ships blew their whistles in harsh salute to this latest dash of Yankee bravery.
"Let us up on deck," cried David Pollard, excitedly. "We want to acknowledge some of that applause as modestly as possible."
The submarine's entire crew were speedily on the platform deck, while Captain Jack was busily explaining to his friends the necessity that had arisen for such a prompt, deep dive.
"Oh, but that was magnificently done, Jack!" cried the inventor, in a transport of enthusiasm. "Hear them yell! See them wave! The din of the whistles! It was the best thing we've done or could do in the way of compelling advertising!"
"Advertising be—will keep!" rasped Jacob Farnum. "But, for now, Captain Benson, hustle over to that pier as fast as the speed of the boat will allow. Advertising—with Grace Desmond's fortune and happiness at stake!"
So the young captain turned on speed, and steered on through the lanes of Naval vessels. Even on those craft from which his dashing, daring performance had not been witnessed the news was known, now, passed from ship to ship by the wig-wagging of signal flags.
All the way into the pier the "Pollard" was greeted with tempestuous volleys of applause, for there is nothing the American naval tar loves as he does sheer, wild grit.
"Advertising, is it?" demanded Mr. Farnum, in raging disgust. "We're getting plenty and to spare. No one within five miles of here can possibly be ignorant of the fact that the 'Pollard' is making a hustle to the dock!"
As the "Pollard" slipped in at a vacant berth on one side of the pier, there was a rush of civilians, and of sailors and marines on brief shore leave.
Many of those who crowded down to look over the boat and her crew had witnessed Captain Jack Benson's difficult manoeuvre from the distance.
"Take the wheel, Hal," Jack murmured to his chum. "You and Eph had better stay aboard, and slip out into the stream before a swarm of folks rushes aboard."
Jacob Farnum leaped to the pier, the inventor following. Jack leaped to the string-piece last of all. Then Hal veered easily off, turning the boat's nose about and making out again.
"Aw!" went up a murmur from the crowd. "We wanted to see that craft."
"There she is," smiled Benson. "She won't go far away. She'll be on view, all right."
Jacob Farnum made straight for two marines who had been standing a little distance away. Neither had joined in the rush for the submarine.
"My men, to what ship do you belong?" he asked, quickly.
"Flagship 'Columbia,' sir," replied one of the men.
"Do you know the new steward, Dudley, of the 'Columbia'?"
"I think he came ashore lately, sir, in one of the shore boats."
"Then you saw him land?"
"Yes, sir."
"Which way did he go?"
"I think he headed straight for the railway station, sir. Had something in his hand that looked like a telegram."
"That's enough. Thank you," cried Farnum, as he hurried away.
"One moment," interrupted Jack. "How was Dudley dressed?"
"He had on the white duck uniform of a steward, and cap to match," replied the marine.
"Thank you," nodded Jack, then turned and ran after Farnum and Pollard.
The railway station was not far away. Over there the trio hastened. No train had left for half an hour, as they quickly learned, but one was due to leave in about fifteen minutes.
The operator assured the questioners that no one in a naval steward's dress had attempted to send a telegram.
"That was only a ruse, then," said Farnum. "The fellow went through here, and by here."
Jack hastily devoted himself to questioning other employes about the station.
"Why, yes, I saw a man who looked like that," replied the baggage-master.
"What did he do! What became of him?" asked Jack, swiftly.
"He went through here, and down that street," replied the baggage-master promptly.
"Is that all you saw, or know about him?"
"Yes."
Jack hastily reported to his two friends. Just then a policeman approached. Farnum learned that he was stationed here during the naval week. So the boatbuilder gave the officer a hasty description of the fugitive and asked that the steward, in case he returned to the station, and attempted to board a train, be arrested.
"I'll certainly nab him," promised the officer.
"Now, come along up that street, yonder," called Farnum to his companions. "Confound it, it's like hunting a needle in a hay-stack!"
"And we forgot to ask that officer to report to the police of the town,"Jack reminded his employer, after they had gone a little way.
"Run back to the station, get the police station on the 'phone, and send word to the chief, will you?" begged Mr. Farnum.
Captain Jack returned on the run. He secured 'phone connection with the chief of police, and was able to give a graphic description of the steward who was wanted so badly.
"Of course," Jack hinted to the police chief, "the fellow we want so badly may have friends on shore, or some other way of changing his white uniform for other clothes."
"I won't overlook that," promised the chief of police. "And I'll send out a general alarm at once."
By the time that the submarine boy left the railway station again Farnum and Pollard were out of sight. Nevertheless, Benson hurried off up the same street they had taken.
He walked quickly for two blocks, then, coming to a larger street that crossed at right angles, he started to turn and go east. Just as he rounded the corner he thought he heard something strike the sidewalk, as though it had dropped from his pockets.
Wheeling quickly, the submarine boy returned to the corner. He was just in time to see something that took his thoughts like a flash from everything else.
Near the doorway of a small clothing store, two doors from the corner, a man had been looking stealthily out. Just as Jack turned the corner, out of sight, this man darted out, then slowed down to a deliberate walk in the direction of the railway station.
It was this man at whom Jack Benson found himself staring with all his eyesight. The man was dressed in a rather fastidious-looking summer weight frock coat suit. On his head rested an expensive straw hat of the latest sort. Over his eyes were light blue goggles. His hair was jet black.
"But that's a wig!" flashed Jack Benson, inwardly, almost at once. "That's Arthur Miller, just the same. He has the same walk as the steward!"
Though the other had had a brief chance for a glimpse at Benson just as he turned, the well dressed one did not increase his pace—that is, not until he heard Captain Jack's swift steps behind him.
"Oh, just a minute, if you please!" called Benson, in a voice that was ironically pleasant.
One look over his shoulder the other took, then broke into a run.
But Jack was younger, more agile, with better wind. Realizing this, the fugitive wheeled around the corner into an alley.
It was a short one, leading to some sort of a stable yard. Yet, though Jack Benson reached that yard in about record time, he gave a gasp of dismay. For the well-dressed fugitive was already out of sight, nor did noise from any quarter show the line of his further flight.
"Confound him, I'm not going to lose him as quickly and easily as that!" raged young Benson.
"Looking for your pop?" demanded a laughing, broad-faced woman, appearing at a back door that opened into the yard.
"Yes," declared Jack, pulsing. "Which way—"
"He went in there," nodded the woman, pointing to the nearly closed door of a small barn.
It might have been that the woman was purposely deceiving him, to aid the fugitive, but to that suspicion Jack had no time to give thought. He sprang into the barn to find it empty. He stood there, panting, for a moment, growing sick at heart with disappointment.
Then he heard a slight rustling on a haymow overhead, that was reached only by a ladder. Up that ladder rushed the submarine boy, springing into the hay.
As he did so, the well-dressed fugitive darted out from cover at another point in the mow, leaping straight down to the floor. After him sprang Jack Benson, and landed full upon him.
But the fugitive, by a supreme effort fear, rose, shaking off the boy, and started to dart out into the open.
"No, you don't—Mr. Arthur Miller!" roared the submarine boy, making a bound after him.
So much force did Jack put into that leap that, missing, he fell to the floor on his hands and knees. The moment thus gained for the fugitive was enough to give the latter time to dart out, slamming the door shut after him.
"This chase doesn't stop until it turns out my way!" muttered young Benson, doggedly. He had expected to find the door secured, but it was not. He yanked it open.
The fugitive was crossing the yard, just reaching the alley, when the same woman who had first spoken to Jack again opened her door. In one hand she held a mop. This she threw with such aim or luck that it passed between the running man's legs, tripping him.
And then Jack Benson piled upon him in earnest, first snatching up the mop and brandishing it over the fugitive's head.
"I don't want to hurt your cranium any," flared up Captain Jack. "ButI'm going to do it if I have to."
"Confound you, woman!" roared the discomfited rascal.
"Arthur Miller's voice!" cried Jack, joyously. "Now, I know what we had only guessed so far! Now, see here, my fine fellow, you might as well give in, for I'm not going to quit until I land you—"
Miller had been lying quietly enough for a few moments. Now, however, he suddenly squirmed about, catching Jack by the ankles with both hands. Down went the submarine boy, flopped by a trick that he had little expected.
"We'll see whether you've got me!" clicked the scoundrel, leaping to his feet and making for the street.
"Thank you for your mop, ma'am," Jack called back, pantingly, as he gave chase. It annoyed him to have Miller prove so slippery, and he was filled with dread lest the defaulter should wind up by getting clean away.
Singing snatches of song, two sailors passed on the sidewalk, just at the head of the alleyway.
"Look what's coming," roared one, goodnaturedly, catching at his mate's hand. Thus, halted, they formed an effective barrier of brawn in the way of the first runner.
"Let me through! That wretch wants to kill me!" gasped Miller.
"We won't let him," replied one of the sailors, reassuringly.
"Hold him! The police want him!" implored Jack.
"Hold on, both of you," admonished one of the sailors, grabbing at Miller, while the other sailor placed himself so as to prevent the submarine boy from a possible attack. "One of you is lying. Which one is it?"
"Well," grinned Jack, reassured, "I'm not afraid to have you take us both before the nearest officer of the law. But I guess that man is afraid of such a test."
"Sounds like a straightforward answer," observed the other Jack Tar.
"This man," declared young Benson, "is Arthur Miller, wanted by the law for looting part of his ward's fortune and running away with the rest."
"It's a lie!" challenged Miller, hoarsely.
"Then ask him," proposed Jack, crisply, "why he's wearing a black wig, and under that has iron-gray hair that has been dyed brown? Why he shaved his beard oft?"
"Do you know the answer?" demanded the sailor who held Miller. The other sailor lifted Miller's new straw hat, snatching off the wig.
"Guilty, as charged," he grinned.
"Now, hold on to him, and march him along until you meet the first policeman," urged Jack Benson. "If you do that, I'm very certain that my employer, Jacob Farnum, builder of the 'Pollard' submarine boat, will remember you both handsomely."
"That sounds good," laughed one of the seamen.
"And here comes an officer now," cried Captain Jack, looking down the street as far as the next corner. "See how your prisoner trembles. Would an innocent man act so?"
Within three minutes Arthur Miller stood before the desk at a station house. In less than twenty minutes Messrs. Farnum and Pollard had been found. They hurried to the police station, confirming the identification of Arthur Miller. He was locked up.
"It's a big thing you've helped to do, lads," Jacob Farnum assured the two strong young sailors. "You're entitled to some of the fruits of your work. How will this do?"
Whereupon he pressed upon each Jack Tar a couple of twenty-dollar bills.
"We've a couple of hours of shore leave left to us," grinned one of the sailors. "Is there anyone else you want caught, friend?"
By the time that Farnum, Pollard and Captain Jack had returned to the pier they found a midshipman awaiting them.
"Admiral Bentley's compliments, gentlemen," said the midshipman. "He begs you to go to him aboard the flagship. He has information of importance to communicate to you concerning the missing steward."
"By the way," laughed Mr. Farnum, contentedly, "that steward is no longer missing. We've just had the pleasure of seeing him placed under lock and key, where he'll keep until he's wanted."
"Will you come aboard the flagship in our launch?" asked the midshipman.
"Yes, thank you," replied Farnum. Thereupon Jack signaled to Hal Hastings, aboard the "Pollard," which lay to, not far off, to return to moorings.
"Catch your man?" yelled Hal, through a megaphone. His chum nodded in the affirmative.
"Toot! toot! toot!" sounded the "Pollard's" auto-whistle, in three long, triumphant blasts.
Arrived at the flagship, the midshipman conducted the visitors at once to the admiral's office.
"Did you catch the rascal?" asked that fine old officer.
"Yes, sir," nodded Farnum, and gave a quick, brief account of the capture.
"Captain Benson appear's to be your lucky star to-day," laughed the admiral. "By the way, captain, I must congratulate you most warmly on that daring, magic dive. Your boat is surely in a new class. But now to other interesting business. After you had gone it occurred to me to make a most thorough investigation into the whole matter of that steward.
"Your man Miller certainly displayed considerable originality in his attempt to hide from the law. He had been aboard for some time. He plainly realized that about the last place detectives would ever think to look for criminals would be among the crew of a battleship. We always require references for any man we enlist, and always look up the references. I have yet to satisfy myself as to how the fellow Miller managed to get around the matter of references. However, he got aboard, and was all but safe from pursuit. Moreover, this flagship is scheduled to sail for the European station as soon as the manoeuvres are over. Miller, I imagine, intended to desert when in European waters. By that time, as police pursuit would have cooled, he must have figured that he would be rather safe from the law.
"I have investigated his doings aboard this boat. Among other things I have learned that he deposited with our paymaster, taking a receipt for the same, an iron box—a small affair—which, the fellow said, contained papers regarding the history of his family. He had been years in getting the papers together, he explained to the paymaster, and wanted them put in a place of safe-keeping."
Jacob Farnum sprang to his feet, a great light of suspicion shining in his eyes.
"I have had that box taken from the paymaster's safe and forced open," continued Admiral Bentley with a smile. "It is a right that we exercise over any package at need. It was opened in the presence of three officers of this fleet, and it was found to contain, probably, close to a half million dollars in bills of large denominations. The paymaster will be able to give you more exact figures. He has the money in his safe again. It will be transferred to the custody of civil authorities ashore until the courts have issued an order for its further disposition."
"It's Miss Desmond's money," cried Farnum. "Only a little while to wait, and then that splendid young woman will come into her own."
Tears glistened in the boatbuilder's eyes.
"If you think I am unusually affected over this matter," explained Mr. Farnum, presently, "let me, with your permission, sir, tell you of the fine, brave conduct of the girl in saving Captain Benson and the submarine boat."
Admiral Bentley was greatly interested in the recital that followed.
In due time the flagship's shore boat carried the three to land again. With fingers that shook Jacob Farnum penned a most exultant telegram to Grace Desmond.
That sent, they engaged a boatman to put them aboard the "Pollard." It was now the turn of Hal Hastings and Eph Somers to share in the excitement and the joy.
In the days that followed the "Pollard" did not take any official part in the naval manoeuvres, though whenever there was time for officers to get leave from their ships Captain Jack and his friends were busy enough showing all the workings of the fine boat to their visitors.
Admiral Bentley and his naval staff spent one entire forenoon aboard the natty little submarine. They were delighted with all that they were shown.
"Mr. Pollard," exclaimed the admiral, just before leaving, "it is my unofficial opinion, from what I have seen to-day, and from what you have already shown at this rendezvous, that your boat is miles and miles ahead of any other type of submarine torpedo boat yet constructed. I shall undoubtedly also make that the text of the official opinion that I shall furnish to the Navy Department. I must also tell you, what you already know, that, in your captain and crew of youngsters, you have the best possible material for showing your boat off to the best possible advantage."
It was with light hearts indeed that the crew and passengers of the "Pollard" turned her nose toward the home port. Grant Andrews had already been instructed, by wire, to begin the preliminary work for laying the keel of a sister submarine torpedo boat.
If Dunhaven had turned out well for the launching, she did herself more than proud in the wildly cheering crowd that lined the shores on the return of that adventurous little boat, which was no longer known as "Pollard's Folly," but as "Pollard's Marvel."
It was a happy day for both inventor and builder. The press of the country had been talking for some days of the new era that had dawned in submarine boat building.
Grace Desmond was among the first to welcome the returning voyagers. She had promptly answered Farnum's telegram, and that boatbuilder had subsequently received from her two letters that he did not take the trouble to read fully to his companions.
As if to celebrate the return of the splendid boat, Dunhaven, in the persons of two of her constables, captured Josh Owen that same night when he tried to return by stealth to his home.
Yet the constables did not get their man handcuffed before that same elfin ten-year-old son of Owen's had tried desperately to fight the officers into letting his father go.
Arthur Miller was placed on trial, and pleaded guilty, and Grace Desmond's claim was established to the money found in the iron box aboard the flagship. She tried hard to make Jack and Hal and Eph accept a handsome reward, but all three boys steadfastly refused her offer. Jacob Farnum, in his own quiet way, was a bit more successful, however, and started for each of them a very substantial little bank account.
One day, shortly after the return of the submarine boys to Dunhaven, while the hammers of the riveters were ringing out merrily on the hull of the second Pollard boat, Jacob Farnum sent for Captain Jack Benson and his friends.
"I want to talk business with you," said the builder, motioning to chairs. "You've been working for me for a sort of pay, but now I want to make a definite and regular arrangement with you. I'm willing to provide your keep aboard the boat, and furnish your uniforms. In addition, I am willing to pay Captain Benson a hundred and fifty dollars a month, and Hastings and Somers each a hundred."
That offer brought the three boys to their feet. "It's—it's too much!" Jack managed to gasp.
"First time I ever had an employe tell me he was being paid too much," laughed the builder. "Now, see here, young men, Pollard and I are going to make fortunes out of building these boats—huge fortunes, we believe—and we want to attract loyal young men to us by paying them at least fair wages. Think it over, and you'll soon agree you're not being paid too much."
What could the young men do but accept the wonderful good fortune that was offered them? Then Farnum, laughing, rose and opened a nearby door. There stood Grace Desmond smiling.
"Captain," announced the builder, as he took one of the girl's hands in his own, "I shall want you to decorate the 'Pollard' handsomely next Thursday. On that day Miss Desmond will become Mrs. Farnum. Captain and crew of the 'Pollard,' we shall look for you to be at the wedding, and wearing new uniforms that have already been especially ordered for the occasion."
What could the young men do but congratulate the happy couple? And they did it most heartily.