CHAPTER II.
HOW HAVERLY FOILED THE BOAT-STEALERS.
WITHIN a few seconds the two men were flying between the hedges of a country road, with the powerful engines of Oswyn’s “Panhard” throbbing beneath them.
“Say,” the Yankee asked, after a few moments’ travelling, “how far do you reckon it?”
“About forty-five miles to Hilton Manor,” was the response.
“What speed have you got on?” was Haverly’s next question.
“Forty,” returned Oswyn.
“I guess she’ll do better than that. Chuck the lever over.”
“It’s risky in the dark,” warned Oswyn, yet he obeyed his companion’s order notwithstanding. Beneath the added power the car leapt forward like a thing of life, her monstrous headlights glaring through the gloom like the eyes of some huge animal. Her every bolt and rivet quivered and sang with the throbbing of the mighty cylinders.
She was a veritable projectile, yet the doctor’s hand was as steady as a rock as he gripped the wheel. Presently Haverly consulted his watch.
“Is she doing all she knows?” he asked.
“Every inch,” was the reply. “Great Scott! You surely don’t want her to do any more? We’re going over fifty now. What would happen if we struck an obstruction?”
The American smiled grimly.
“I guess we’re going to strike nothing this side of Hilton,” he remarked. “We’ll do the striking when we arrive.”
Round sharp corners they whirled on two wheels, the other pair high in the air. A hundred times the car seemed like to overturn, yet somehow the catastrophe which appeared inevitable never happened. Always, at the last moment, Oswyn’s consummate skill and his knowledge of the road saved the situation.
The dark stretch of road trailed swiftly away behind them as the moments flew by, and once again Haverly drew forth his watch.
“How much further?” he questioned.
“Nearly there,” his friend replied. He shut off the power as he spoke, and the car, rounding a curve by its own momentum, came to a standstill before a massive pair of iron gates, flanked by a lodge.
Leaping out, the millionaire pulled the great bell-handle which hung down from the pillar.
Ere the clanging of the bell had ceased, the door of the lodge opened, and the keeper stepped out, carrying a lantern.
“What do you want?” he asked suspiciously, throwing the light upon the two men and the motionless car.
“Open the gates,” Haverly demanded. “I must see your master at once. I’m Haverly.”
“You might be, but then again you mightn’t,” was the dubious reply. “Anyway, I’ve got strict orders to keep a sharp look-out for anybody suspicious-looking.”
“You darned fool!” cried the Yankee, “do you size me up as a suspicious party?”
“Orders is orders,” retorted the man sullenly, without budging an inch.
“Say, Frank,” Haverly said, “give us a leg up, will you? This fool means to keep us out here all night.”
With the aid of his friend, Silas swarmed over the barrier, and dropped lightly down on the other side. Quickly he flung open the gates, and the next moment the car was spinning up the drive, leaving the lodge-keeper staring blankly after it.
“It’s agin orders,” he muttered at length, and, shaking his head sagely, he closed the gates, and withdrew to his room.
Up the broad, gravelled track Oswyn drove the automobile, at a speed that made the shrubs which bordered the drive dance past in one dark line.
Soon the lights of the Manor gleamed before them, and from afar the sound of the sea came to their ears.
Bringing the car to a standstill before the porch, the doctor sprang out, followed by his friend.
“I guess we’re in time,” Haverly said. “You’ll see this through, Frank?”
“Rather!” replied the young doctor enthusiastically. “We’d better take a look round before we make an entrance.”
Leaving the car where it stood, the two men crept round to the rear of the building.
The light, streaming through the open French windows of the dining-room, attracted their attention, and Oswyn with difficulty stifled an exclamation of rage as, crossing the lawn, they peered in.
Within sat Seymour, the inventor, and Mervyn, before a table which still held the remnants of a meal; but each was bound securely to his chair and gagged.
In one corner of the room stood Haverly’s two companions of the express, and with them two others, one in the dress of a footman. They were conversing in low tones, and at intervals a gleam of metal beneath the electric light showed that all were armed.
“Well, gentlemen,” one of them said at length, addressing the helpless trio, “I think we may venture to leave you. You will be perfectly safe for the night, but I am afraid your proposed Polar expedition will have to be indefinitely postponed.”
The scoundrel’s words floated distinctly to the ears of the watchers, and Oswyn was seized with a mad desire to rush in upon the plotters. Haverly restrained him, however.
“Got a gun?” he questioned hoarsely.
“No,” was the reply, “worse luck.”
“Wal, I guess we can’t tackle the hull crowd with only one shooter. See here: I’m going to skid down to the dock, an’ if I don’t get the drop on ’em before long, my name ain’t Si. K. Haverly!”
“But where do I come in?” asked the doctor.
“You stay right here,” replied Haverly, “until them greasers come out, then you can nip in an’ unfix our pards.”
“Couldn’t we rush ’em?” suggested Oswyn eagerly.
“If you want a couple of funerals knockin’ around,” returned the millionaire grimly. “No, my son, you take it from me, it’s best to play a waiting game.”
“Very well,” assented Oswyn, “get off down to the dock; I’ll wait here.”
At that the Yankee turned, and vanished into the darkness of the surrounding shrubbery.
For ten minutes Oswyn waited outside the window, then the four scoundrels filed out, the footman switching off the light ere he left.
“Good-night, gentlemen,” he called mockingly, as he closed the window behind him, and it was all Oswyn could do to restrain the hot rage which rose within him, prompting him to knock the rascal down as he passed. But he controlled himself by a strong effort, and the four plotters, striding over the lawn, passed down the drive towards the dock gates. These the footman opened with one of a bunch of keys, and the quartette passed through into the yard.
Around them, wrapped in darkness, lay the great workshops, wherein the various sections of the marvellous submarine had taken shape.
Past these deserted buildings—which but lately had rung with stroke upon stroke of the workmen’s hammers—they went, under the guidance of the footman, until they stood beside the great dock, wherein lay floating the craft they had dared so much to obtain.
Producing an electric lantern, the footman cast its beams over the gleaming hull of the vessel.
“Wonderful!” the conspirators cried, as their eyes drank in the singular beauty of the boat. For a few moments they stood lost in admiration. On the quay alongside stood the piles of stores, awaiting shipment on the morrow, should the trial trip prove satisfactory, and the sight of them reminded the leader that that vessel was not yet theirs.
“Aboard with you,” he cried, and led the way over the gangway.
His two colleagues followed, leaving the footman on the quay.
A moment later a blaze of light came from the turret of the submarine.
The boat-stealers had switched on the great searchlight which topped the turret of the vessel, and its beams illumined the whole dockyard.
“Sharp there, Benson!” the leader called, and at the words the footman moved to a great winch, which stood beside the dock.
Putting forth his whole strength, he commenced to turn the handle, thus opening the gates of the dock, and making a free passage for the submarine to the North Sea.
The plotters had chosen their time well, for the tide was at its flood. Casting off the mooring ropes, the footman leapt aboard, and passed down the steps to the engine-room.
Three minutes later the submarine crept out into the bay upon which the dock gave. The object of the conspirators’ plotting had been attained; the scheme was a gigantic success.
The three scoundrels were not a little pleased with themselves as the boat glided swiftly across the bay under the guidance of the leader.
They jested and laughed, flavouring their conversation with many an oath, as they pictured to their own delight the mortification of the inventor, whose craft they had stolen.
Their mirth would perhaps have been less hilarious had they noted the grim figure creeping along the corridor below, towards the foot of the steps.
“Jesting apart,” said the leader at length, “it’s a marvellous vessel. With this craft, armed in an up-to-date manner, we shall have the shipping of the entire world at our mercy. Not a warship on the seas will be able to resist us.”
“For which we have to thank our estimable friend, the inventor,” returned one of his companions with a grin.
At that moment there came a flash, twice repeated, from the darkness far ahead.
“The Night Hawk!” cried the leader; “it is——”
“Checkmate, gentlemen,” drawled a quiet voice behind them.
At the words the three turned, to look into the gleaming barrel of Haverly’s revolver.
“Hands up, you scoundrels!” he cried.
“Ah! would you?”
This last to the leader, who, with a savage oath, had made a grab for his breast pocket.
A vicious spurt of flame leapt from the millionaire’s weapon, and as the report rang through the turret, the fellow fell back with a shattered wrist.
“Out west,” snapped the Yankee, “when I say put ’em up, they generally calculate to put ’em up at once! I shouldn’t advise you to play tricks; this gun’s kinder impatient, and might go off again. Say, sonny! Just grab them spokes, and turn her round for the dock.”
The scoundrel addressed moved trembling to the wheel, and, under the watchful eye of the American, brought the submarine round.
“That’s the style,” Haverly said, “keep her there. I reckon you’re in for a warm time when Mr. Hilton gets hold of you. You should never attempt to run a picnic of this sort; it needs brains, gentlemen, and——”
What Silas would have said further will never be known, for he broke off suddenly and ducked, just in time to escape a bullet from the revolver of the footman, who, aroused by the Yankee’s shot, had crept from the engine-room.
Quick as thought Haverly’s weapon answered, and the footman, with a neat little hole in the centre of his forehead, dropped like a log.
“Any more comin’ along?” Silas asked coolly; but the scoundrels had no heart left for resistance.
“Get down to the engine-room, you there,” the millionaire continued. “Drop your barker first; that’s better. Now slope, an’ let’s have no tricks, or you’ll get hurt.”
Like a beaten hound, the fellow slunk below, never attempting to possess himself of the dead footman’s revolver, which lay beside the corpse.
The American was master of the situation.
* * * * * *
As the sound of the plotters’ footsteps died away, Oswyn flung open the window of the dining-room and rushed in.
One moment he fumbled for the switch, the next, a dazzling flood of light poured into the room.
Before the three bound men had recovered from their surprise at his unexpected appearance, Oswyn had cut their bonds and removed the gags.
“Where have you sprung from, Frank?” cried the inventor, stamping about the room in his efforts to restore the circulation to his numbed limbs.
Briefly the doctor told him of his fortunate meeting with Haverly at Carnmoor, and the succeeding events.
As he finished speaking, Seymour left the room, returning in a moment with a brace of revolvers.
“Come,” he cried, “we may yet be in time to take a hand in the game.”
Out into the night the four men plunged, and raced down to the dockyard; but they were a few moments too late. The submarine had gone.
The shock of this discovery stunned them for a time.
They had counted on Haverly keeping the scoundrels from boarding the vessel; but it seemed clear to them that their American friend had failed in his undertaking, and had paid the penalty of his daring.
“Silas must have got wiped out,” Oswyn muttered sadly; “he would never have let them get possession of her otherwise,” in which statement, as the reader knows, Frank was mistaken.
“What’s the next move?” Seymour asked. “Your craft’s too swift to think of pursuit, I suppose?”
“It’s hopeless to think of recovering her,” returned the inventor. “What’s that?”
A brilliant light had flashed over the dark waters of the bay.
“There she is!” Mervyn cried, and an instant later the torpedo-shaped craft became visible to each of the watchers.
But her movements puzzled them; she appeared to be making for the dock entrance.
Slowly she crept forward, seeming to feel her way as she advanced, until the four standing on the quay could make out the three forms in her turret.
Then comprehension burst upon them!
“Good old Silas!” cried Seymour; “he’s got the drop on our bold conspirators this time.”
Garth laughed boisterously in his rapture at the recovery of his invention.
Through the dock gates the vessel crept to her old mooring-place. Almost ere the engines had ceased to throb, the four had leapt aboard, and were crowding into the turret.
Within a few moments the two uninjured rascals and their wounded chief were securely trussed, and locked away in one of the workshops, there to await removal to the local jail.
The body of the footman was laid upon the quay and covered with a sheet. Only when these matters were attended to would the American satisfy the curiosity of his friends as to the manner in which he had managed to turn the tables upon the boat-stealers.
“Where’s your watchman?” he asked, after dismissing the subject in half a dozen pithy sentences.
“You’ve locked him up,” Garth returned; “it was the fellow who steered you in. He must have been heavily bribed by the plotters. Had Wilson been here, this would not have happened, for he has been guarding the boat himself at night.”
“Where’s he gone?” asked the doctor.
“Down home,” was the reply, “to say good-bye to his people. We thought of starting at midnight to-morrow, but, of course, this job”—pointing to the corpse of the footman—“will delay us for several days. There will have to be an inquest, and no end of fuss before we can get away.”
“I wish I were coming with you,” Oswyn said impulsively.
“I wish you were, old chap,” Garth agreed; “but I suppose it’s impossible?”
“Utterly,” replied the doctor; “the practice would go to beggary were I away for a month or two, just now. All the same, you have my best wishes for the success of your trip. May you return safe and sound!”
“Thanks, old man; I sincerely hope we shall.”
Moving to the winch, Garth closed the gates of the dock; then, leaving the Yankee, at his own request, on guard, the rest of the party adjourned to the house to finish their interrupted meal, and to seek a much-needed rest.
As they went, the inventor pondered over an idea of Haverly’s.
“Say, Garth,” the millionaire had remarked, as the party passed out of the yard, “if you’re wanting a name for your boat, I guess you might do worse than call it the Seal.”
“Seal it shall be,” Garth muttered to himself, and so it was.