“YOU’LL come, then?”
Professor James Mervyn’s voice quivered with eagerness as he put this question to his companion, Sir William Seymour, in a private room of a large London hotel. The baronet, a man in the prime of life, over six feet in height, and broad in proportion, his bearded face tanned by many a year of travel under a tropical sun, rose, and paced the chamber for some moments ere answering.
“Yes, I’ll come,” he said at length. “I had made all arrangements to leave England to-morrow for a spell in India; but that must slide. I can’t miss this chance of a trip to the Pole. But now tell me something more of this wonderful idea of yours.”
The professor’s spare form seemed to dilate with scientific zeal, and his eyes flashed as he commenced to speak.
“To begin at the beginning,” he said. “I have had the idea in my mind for some years, but until the last six months I saw no chance of putting it into execution. Although my theory has been ridiculed and laughed to scorn by most, if not all, of my colleagues, yet I am still convinced that it is not only feasible, but that it is the only way in which the secret of the Pole, so jealously guarded by Dame Nature, may be wrested from her grasp.
“This was my line of reasoning: that it would be possible for a properly equipped submarine vessel to dive beneath the great ice barrier, and so reach the open sea which we know exists beyond. But the submarines of the day were in no way suitable for the attempt. Mere toys in size, and in some instances proving veritable death-traps to their unfortunate crews, of what use were these to cope with the perils of the Arctic seas? So my theory remained dormant until, some weeks ago, I received a letter from Garth Hilton. You remember what a fellow Garth always was for making model boats?”
Seymour nodded affirmatively.
“Well,” Mervyn continued, “it seems that he has had his old school chum, Tom Wilson, the engineer, staying with him at Hilton Manor for several months, and between them they have managed to construct a submarine, which, if it but answer their expectations, will prove the very thing I have been waiting for all these years. This is Garth’s description of his craft,” and, extracting a letter from the depths of a bulky note-book, Mervyn read as follows:
“Total length, three hundred and fifty feet; beam, fifty feet; torpedo-shaped, with turret or wheelhouse, from which the vessel is governed, in centre of deck. Tanks for submerging or raising; air reservoirs for supply whilst beneath the surface; liquid air engines, a patent of Wilson’s, maximum speed of which is forty-five knots per hour upon the surface, and thirty submerged.”
“Whew!” The professor’s companion whistled in his astonishment at this last statement.
“Liquid air engines!” he said. “Why, I always thought that liquid air was a powerful explosive agent?”
“True,” returned Mervyn; “but you must also remember that steam becomes an explosive when compressed, as witness the recent boiler explosion, so that is no argument against the use of liquid air as a propelling power.”
“But I don’t quite see——” the baronet began in a puzzled tone.
“Let me try to make it clear to you,” interrupted Mervyn. “Though but eighteen, young Tom Wilson is already recognised as an authority on the subject of liquid air and its capabilities as a propelling agent. As you will recollect, his father was a famous engineer, and the family talent appears to have descended to the lad.
“Ever since he left school Tom has been working on his engines, lack of funds alone preventing him from perfecting them before now. With financial aid from Garth, however, he has at last been enabled to complete them, and I give you my word they are the finest set of engines I have ever been privileged to examine.
“The huge boiler is somewhat similar in shape to that of an ordinary marine engine, but is much larger, and contains a number of immense tubes, in which is stored the liquefied air. From these the stuff works direct upon the powerful cylinders. Heat, of course, is entirely unnecessary; in fact, it would shatter the whole affair to atoms, liquid air being many degrees colder than ice.
“The first two gallons of the stuff cost Garth six hundred pounds to make; but there the expense ends, the engines drawing their own supplies from the air as they work.”
“Wonderful!” Seymour cried; “and the vessel does forty-five knots to the hour, you say? What will the world think of it when the news becomes public?”
“The news will never become public,” retorted the scientist, “if we can avoid it. Garth has taken the greatest care to prevent the facts leaking out. All his workers are picked men, and have been sworn to secrecy with regard to the nature of the vessel upon which they are engaged.”
“It will leak out,” asserted Seymour, “despite his precautions. A thing of that sort cannot remain a secret long. The very secrecy will attract the attention of the curiously inclined.”
“Exactly,” returned Mervyn, “that is what we are afraid of. Already, it seems, some hint of the matter has reached the Continent, in spite of Garth’s care. Two days ago I ran down to the Manor to look over the boat ere the final details were completed, and while there, Garth called my attention to a couple of suspicious-looking characters—foreigners, evidently—who, he said, had been hanging round the village for some days. Still, I think there is little to fear. The dock where the submarine floats is guarded night and day.”
The scientist refolded the inventor’s letter, and replaced it, ere resuming the conversation.
“Of course, what I have read to you is a very bald statement of the facts. When I went down I confess I was surprised at the singular beauty of the craft. She is built of steel throughout, and furnished in a most luxurious manner; in fact, she must have cost Garth a fortune.”
“When do you start?” questioned Seymour.
“Within three days,” was the answer, “if the trial trip proves satisfactory. You will come down for that, I suppose? Then there is the affair of the christening to be gone through—we have not yet decided on a name for the vessel.”
“There will be room for a weapon or two, I suppose? I should feel lost without my guns.”
“Bring a whole armoury if you like,” replied Mervyn, smiling, “though I doubt if you will find much scope for your sporting instincts in the icy realms of the north. There is a special chamber fitted up as an armoury aboard the vessel, and there are racks in the turret in which a few weapons will be kept in case of emergency. Oh, I forgot to tell you—Silas is coming.”
“What!” cried Seymour, “Silas Haverly? That’s good. He’s always ready for any adventure that may turn up. Is he down at Hilton now?”
“No,” returned the scientist; “he goes down to-morrow.”
He pulled out his watch as he spoke.
“By Jove!” he cried, “I’ve only twenty minutes to catch the express. Are you coming down with me?”
“Yes,” returned the other. “I’ll just leave word for my traps to be sent on, and then I’m with you.”
Three minutes later the two men passed out of the hotel entrance, and, entering a cab, were driven rapidly away into the night.