THE RADIO DETECTIVES UNDER THE SEA
BY
A. HYATT VERRILL
AUTHOR OF “THE RADIO DETECTIVES”,
“THE RADIO DETECTIVES SOUTHWARD BOUND,”
“THE RADIO DETECTIVES IN THE JUNGLE,”
“THE DEEP SEA HUNTERS,” ETC.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK :: 1922 :: LONDON

COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

CONTENTS

[I. In the Bahamas]
[II. A Mysterious Disappearance]
[III. Surprises]
[IV. Radio Magic]
[V. A Narrow Escape]
[VI. On the Trail of the Submarine]
[VII. The Fight With the Octopus]
[VIII. Lost]
[IX. Prisoners]
[X. Radio to the Rescue]
[XI. The Devil Dancers]
[XII. Smernoff Pays His Debt]
[XIII. The Tramp]

THE RADIO DETECTIVES UNDER THE SEA

CHAPTER I—IN THE BAHAMAS

“Oh, look, Tom! There’s land!” cried Frank Putney as, coming on deck one beautiful morning, he glanced across the shimmering sea and saw a low cloud-like speck upon the horizon ahead.

“Hurrah! it must be the Bahamas,” exclaimed Tom Pauling, as he saw the first bit of land they had sighted since leaving New York three days previously. “Say, isn’t it bully to see land again? And isn’t this water wonderful?”

To the two boys, the short sea trip had been a constant source of interest, for while they had both been on ocean-going steamships before and Frank had crossed the Atlantic, yet neither had ever visited the tropics. The glistening flying fish which had skittered like miniature sea-planes from under the plunging bows of the ship had filled them with delight; they had fished up bits of the floating yellow sargassum or Gulf Weed and had examined with fascination the innumerable strange crabs, fishes and other creatures that made it their home; they had watched porpoises as they played about the ship and they had even caught a brief glimpse of a sperm whale.

The wonderfully rich indigo-blue water of the Gulf Stream was a revelation to them and now that they were rapidly approaching the outlying cays of the Bahamas, with the surrounding water malachite and turquoise, emerald and sapphire with patches of dazzling purple and streaks of azure they could scarcely believe it real.

“It doesn’t look like water at all,” declared Tom, as his father joined them.

“It looks like—well, like one of those futurist paintings or as if some one had spilled a lot of the brightest blue and green paint he could find and had slapped on a lot of purple for good measure:”

Mr. Pauling laughed. “That’s accurate if not poetical,” he replied, “and you’ll find, when you go ashore, that the imaginary man with the paint pot did not stop at the water. The land is just as gaudy and incredibly bright as the sea.”

“Is that Nassau ahead?” asked Tom.

“No, that’s a small cay,” replied one of the officers who had drawn near the little group, “Egg Cay they call it. We’ll raise Rose Cay next and should sight New Providence and Nassau about two o’clock. Pretty, isn’t it?”

So intensely interested and excited were the two boys that they could scarcely wait to eat their breakfast before they again rushed on deck to find the little islet close to the ship, its cream-colored beaches and purplish-gray coral rocks clear and distinct above the marvelously tinted water edged by a thread of surf and with a few straggling palm trees nodding above the low, dull-green bush which covered the cay.

But to the boys, there were more reasons for being interested and excited than the mere fact that they were gazing for the first time at a tropical island or were about to visit a strange land. They were on an exciting and strange trip, a remarkable mission for two boys and one which promised an abundance of adventure.

Like so many boys, they had become interested in radio and during their experiments with various sets had heard peculiar messages from some unidentified speaker. With their curiosity aroused, they had tried, merely for the fun of the thing, to locate the sending station by means of loop aerials or radio compasses.

Having decided that the voice came from a certain block on the East Side of New York, they had reported their discovery to Mr. Henderson, a federal employee and an associate of Tom’s father, for their boyish imaginations had been fired with the idea that the speaker was a lawbreaker associated with a gang of rum smugglers whom Mr. Pauling was endeavoring to run down. But when a search of the block by Mr. Henderson’s men failed to reveal any trace of a radio outfit the boys had lost interest in the matter.

Then, when Mr. Pauling had returned from a mission to the Bahamas and Cuba, he had told the boys of a young man named Rawlins who had devised a remarkable type of diving suit which required no life line or air hose, the oxygen for the diver to breathe being produced by means of certain chemicals. Mr. Pauling had mentioned that the inventor of the suit had stated that its one fault was that the user could not communicate with those on a ship or on shore and Tom; his mind ever on his favorite hobby, had suggested that radio might be used. Later, when Rawlins met the boys in New York and Tom told him his ideas, the diver fell in with the scheme and declared that he believed it would be feasible to make a radio telephone apparatus which could be used under water.

Fitting up his father’s dock on the East River front as a workshop and laboratory, Rawlins and the boys worked diligently at Tom’s invention and at last succeeded in devising a radio set with which the diver could talk freely and easily with people on shore or with others under the sea.

While trying out the device Tom and Rawlins discovered two other divers whose actions were suspicious, and watching them, were amazed to see the men enter an old disused sewer. Following them into the sewer Tom and his companion were startled at hearing a conversation in some foreign tongue and Rawlins insisted it came from the other divers and that they too possessed undersea radio telephones. Hiding in the shadows the two saw the strangers standing under a trap-door into which they disappeared, taking with them a mysterious, cigar-shaped, metal object like a torpedo.

A little later, as Tom and Rawlins were about to return to their own dock, they again saw the men and following them were thunderstruck to discover that they were about to enter a submarine lying at the bottom of the river. Curious to find out more about the undersea craft, Rawlins approached it and was suddenly attacked by the two men. Tom unconsciously screamed and at the sound Frank, who was anxiously waiting at the receiver on shore, asked what was wrong. Suddenly, realizing that he was in touch with his friends, Tom called for help asking Frank to send for the police. At his cries the submarine quickly got under way, deserting the two strange divers who, seeing their craft had left, surrendered to Rawlins.

In his excitement one of the men had been careless and as a result the chemicals in his suit had flamed up at the touch of water and the man had been seriously injured. With the captured diver, Tom and Rawlins had made their way to the dock, carrying the wounded man and had arrived just as Mr. Pauling with Mr. Henderson and the police arrived. Tom had fainted from strain and excitement and when he recovered consciousness found that the captive had been recognized as a dangerous escaped criminal, a Russian “red” and that the other man was at the point of death.

Mr. Pauling, having heard Rawlins’ tale, suspected a connection between the deserted sewer, the strange divers, the submarine and the mysterious messages the boys had heard and at once sent the police to surround the block and search the buildings. As a result of the raid, a garage had been found with a secret passage connecting with the sewer and in which were stored vast quantities of liquor, contraband goods, Bolshevist propaganda and loot taken from hold-ups and robberies in New York.

Feeling that they had stumbled upon the key to a wave of crime and “red” literature which had been sweeping the country, Mr. Henderson questioned the captive, Smernoff, who confirmed the suspicions and confessed that the submarine had been used for smuggling liquor and other contraband into the united States and taking the ill-gotten loot out and that the contraband had been picked up by the sub-sea boat in mid ocean at spots where it had been dumped overboard from sailing vessels by previous arrangements.

He insisted, however, that he knew nothing of the headquarters of the gang or of their leader whom Henderson and his associates believed was a master criminal, an unscrupulous, fiendish character who, during the war, had undertaken to destroy the Leviathan, Brooklyn Bridge, the Navy Yard and many buildings as well as thousands of people in America and England, but who, failing in this, dared not return to Germany. The government officials felt confident that this same master mind was responsible for the wave of crime, the flood of Bolshevist literature and the threatening letters which had baffled them.

Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson were also most anxious to secure a statement from the other man, who was still unconscious in the hospital, and when at last he was able to speak Mr. Pauling hurried to his side. The dying man, thinking that his comrades had betrayed him, related an astounding story, admitted the existence of the master criminal and was on the point of revealing his headquarters when he died.

At almost the same time word was received that the submarine had been picked up, drifting at sea, by a destroyer despatched to find her, but that she was absolutely deserted. When at last she was towed into New York and was examined by Mr. Pauling, Rawlins and the boys she was found stripped of everything which would have thrown light upon the mystery. Questioning the crew of the destroyer, Rawlins discovered that a fishing schooner had been sighted near the drifting submarine and from the description he recognized it as a Bahaman vessel and jumped to the conclusion that the crew of the submarine had transhipped to it.

Believing that he could locate the headquarters of the plotters, Rawlins suggested that he and the boys should go to the West Indies and, after some objections had been overcome, this plan had been agreed to by Tom’s father. Thus it came about that the two boys were now upon a steamer’s deck as she churned her way through the intensely blue sea towards the palm-fringed islands beyond her bows.

“I wonder when Rawlins will get here with that sub,” remarked Mr. Henderson.

“Not for several days yet, I imagine,” replied Mr. Pauling. “There was a lot of work to be done upon her and she cannot make much over fifteen knots on a long cruise. I’m personally more anxious to hear from the destroyers that are chasing the schooner. I wonder if Rawlins was right in his surmise regarding her.”

“We should hear from them soon after we reach Nassau,” declared the other. “We left three days after the destroyers and that schooner certainly could not beat the destroyers to the islands or evade them. I don’t think there’s the least question about their overhauling her.”

“Say, won’t it be great if they do catch her,” exclaimed Tom, “and find the crew of the submarine aboard?”

“Yes, but it’s very evident they have not even sighted her as yet,” replied his father. “If they had we would have received a radio.”

“Perhaps they’re out of range of communication,” suggested Mr. Henderson.

“Oh, no,” Tom assured him. “The operator says all those naval vessels can send for several hundred miles and the weather’s been fine—no static to speak of. We were talking to a Porto Rico liner this morning.”

“I hope you haven’t given away any information in your enthusiasm over radio,” remarked his father. “Remember we don’t want any one—not even ‘Sparks’—to have the least inkling of our purpose or plans Always bear in mind the famous Spanish proverb that ‘a secret between two is God’s secret but a secret between three is everybody’s.’”

“You needn’t worry about us, Dad,” Tom assured him, “we haven’t breathed a word—not even about our under-sea radio, although we were just wild to tell about it. You know our motto is ‘see everything, hear everything and say nothing.’”

“Stick to that and you’ll be a credit to the Service,” laughed his father as he and Mr. Henderson moved away.

Tom and Frank soon forgot all about radio or the chances of the swift destroyers overtaking the schooner in the many interesting sights about: the long-tailed graceful tropical birds whose snowy breasts appeared a delicate sea-green from the sunlight reflected through the clear water by the white sandy bottom of the sea; the bigger Booby gannets that kept pace with the ship, seeming to float without effort just above the rails, and that kept turning their china-blue eyes with a curious stare upon the boys; the big, clumsy pelicans that, in single file, flapped along a few inches above the sea, rising and falling in unison with the waves and now and again plunging suddenly with a tremendous splash into the water as their sharp eyes spied schools of small fish. All these were new and strange to the boys and once they caught a glimpse of a V-shaped line of twinkling red dots against the blue sky which one of the officers assured them was a flock of flamingoes.

“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom suddenly. “Say, just look there, Frank! See, down there between the waves—I’m dead sure I saw the bottom!”

The officer chuckled. “Of course you did!” he assured Tom. “Why not? You can see bottom at ten fathoms down here anywheres. Water’s as clear as glass. Why, when you get to Nassau you can look down and see the sea-fans and corals and marine growths perfectly plainly—sea-gardens the Conchs call ’em—regular places for tourists to go. And you can sit on the dock and fish and watch the fool fishes nibbling at your bait—red and blue and yellow and every color of the rainbow. Then, when you see one that suits your fancy you can just yank him up—great thing this being able to pick your fish!”

The boys looked at him half suspiciously. “Say,” exclaimed Frank, “are you trying to kid us?”

“Not a bit of it,” replied the purser. “Just wait and see. Why, if I told you half the truth about such things you’d swear I was lying.”

“Golly!” ejaculated Tom. “Wouldn’t it be fine to go down in a diving suit in such water. I don’t wonder that R—” Tom checked himself just in time and asked, “But what do you mean by saying the ‘Conchs’ call the places sea gardens?”

The purser laughed. “Oh, I forgot you’d never been down here,” he said. “Conchs is the local name for the Bahamans. Guess it’s because they’re always diving for conchs or maybe because they’re as much at home under water as on land. Greatest divers in the world; fact, I’ve seen ’em diving for sponge and coral many a time and when we get to Nassau this afternoon you’ll see about ten thousand naked nigger boys crowding about, begging you to toss pennies to ’em so they can dive and catch them. Little beggars can grab a coin long before it gets to the bottom and if you toss a penny off one side of the ship they’ll dive off the other, swim under the keel and get the coin before it reaches bottom. And speaking of diving—say, this is the real home and headquarters of that. Met a chap down here last winter—Rawlins is his name—was taking a lot of movies under water, fact. Had a new-fangled sort of suit that didn’t have ropes or hose or anything and just plumped overboard as easy as is and wandered around making friends with the fishes.”

The boys nudged each other and winked. “Oh, now you are kidding us!” said Tom. “How could a fellow go down without air and how could he take movies under the sea? That’s too big even for us to swallow.”

“Fact, just the same,” the other declared. “Had some sort of gadget fixed up on his suit to make air and he took the movies in a big steel room or chamber at the end of a jointed, water-tight pipe—had electric lights and everything in it. Sure thing and no fooling. Saw some of the pictures up in New York too. Yep, one of ’em was called ‘Drowned Gold’ or something of the sort—story of a treasure under the sea—gathered in by Huns in a submarine and cached in an old wreck. Rattling good picture too! Say, you boys want to see his place—got a regular studio here. I don’t think Rawlins is here though.”

“That would be interesting,” agreed Frank, “I’d love to go down in a diving suit and walk about on the bottom. Don’t the fish and things ever trouble him?”

“No,” responded the purser, “even sharks keep off—only danger’s in devil fish—octopus, you know. They grow mighty big hereabouts and are likely to grab anything. Rawlins was making one picture of a whopping big octopus fighting with a diver—fake devil fish made out of rubber, but natural as is. Don’t know how it turned out but I tell you I’m not keen on running foul of any of the real thing. And speaking of sharks—say, here’s a fact that you boys will think’s a whopper. Niggers down here dive in right among the sharks—carry a long knife in their teeth—and grab hold of a shark’s fin and knife him, fact!”

“Well, you can’t tell any yarn bigger than that!” laughed Frank. “Imagine a man tackling a shark under water! Oh come, you must think we’re easy!”

“Well, just wait and see,” replied the purser, “but I’ll have to be running along. There’s New Providence ahead—we’ll be getting into port within the next hour.”

“Gosh, he’s some talker!” exclaimed Tom with a laugh when the loquacious officer had left. “And wasn’t it rich—his telling us about Rawlins and the suits and never guessing we knew him or had been down in those suits ourselves! Say, I’m beginning to think there’s a lot of fun in being Secret Service people. It’s sport listening to folks telling all they know about a thing that you know more about and they never guessing it.”

“Yes,” agreed Frank, “and I can understand now how detectives and Secret Service men find out so much without any one suspecting them. They just start a conversation and then let the other fellows do the talking and pick up a lot of information. But that was rich about the sharks!”

“And the devil fish too!” added Tom. “Wonder if there is any danger from being attacked by an octopus. Say, if there is that’s where our undersea radio would come in mighty fine.”

But whether or not the purser’s tales were true in regard to the sharks and octopus the boys soon discovered that he had not in the least exaggerated the clarity of the water or the skill of the native diving boys when their ship steamed slowly into Nassau harbor.

It was all so wonderfully fascinating and beautiful that the boys kept constantly uttering exclamations of surprise and delight. Never had they dreamed that there could be such vivid colors anywhere in the world. The sky, so blue it resembled a dense solid dome of blue silk; the water, ultramarine, emerald and turquoise streaked with gold and purple; the vivid green foliage with masses of scarlet hibiscus and flaming poinciana trees; the glaring, snow-white coral streets; the pink, blue, green, yellow, and lavender houses with their red roofs and green shutters; the bright-hued orange and red bandannas and gleaming costumes of the negro women crowding the dock; the lofty nodding palm trees above the beaches and looming like gigantic feather dusters above the buildings; the crimson and blue flags of England flying everywhere; the scarlet tunics of strolling soldiers from the garrison; the little shore boats bobbing upon the water and painted every color of the rainbow and scores of sponging and fishing smacks as brilliant in hues as the smaller craft, all combined to form a kaleidoscopic picture of gaudy tints and blazing colors such as can be found only in the tropic islands of the Caribbean. But all these sights were of less interest to Tom and Frank than the naked black, brown and yellow diving boys who paddled about the ship in crude home-made boats, formed from discarded packing cases, or straddled lengths of bamboo and with grinning faces and rolling eyes begged the passengers to throw coins into the water exactly as the purser had described. And when Tom and Frank tossed shining nickels into the sea and the score of black bodies left the makeshift boats as one, the two American boys burst into roars of merriment.

“Gosh, they’re just like a lot of black frogs!” cried Tom. “And just look at them, Frank! See them! Look there! They’re after those nickels and you can see them as plain as if they were under glass! There! Look! One of them’s got a coin! And see how funny the pink soles of their feet look! Say, it’s wonderful!”

For the next half hour the diving boys reaped a rich harvest of small coins and then, the customs and port doctor’s men having completed their inspection, Tom and Frank followed Mr. Pauling down the gangway and a few moments later stood upon the first West Indian island they had ever visited.

CHAPTER II—A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE

For the first few days of their stay in Nassau the boys found plenty to amuse them. They rowed out in a bright-hued rowboat with a glass set in the bottom and gazed at the famed “sea gardens” and found them even more wonderful than the ship’s purser had described. They clambered over the ancient forts Williams and George; they bathed, swam and fished to their hearts’ content and they visited the sponge docks where the speedy little schooners and sloops with their grinning black crews brought their catch of sponges to barter and trade.

The huge turtles, lying on their backs upon the decks of fishing boats, were a novelty to the boys and they were absolutely fascinated by the rainbow-tinted fish that swarmed in the waters and were sold in the market. And they learned many new and interesting things also. They had seen the bleached white corals in museums and saw the same everywhere for sale in Nassau; and the first time they visited the sea gardens and gazed down through the crystal clear water they were surprised that no corals were visible.

There were huge sea-fans—purple and golden brown, long, black sea-rods, brown and purple sea plumes, huge dull-orange and maroon starfish, innumerable sea anemones with immensely long and bright-colored tentacles and everywhere red, pink, yellow, blue and particolored fish, like some sort of exotic butterflies, flitting lazily among the marine growths. But not a white coral was visible. Great rounded mounds of orange, bits of scarlet, masses of green and lavender, of old rose and soft fawn brown were cluttered upon the bottom, but in vain the boys sought for the massive brain corals and graceful branched corals they knew so well.

“Well I don’t see any corals,” declared Tom after he had gazed at the multicolored objects upon the ocean bottom for some time. “It’s pretty, but I thought corals grew everywhere down here.”

The black boatmen chuckled. “Beggin’ yo’ pardon, Chief,” he remarked, “tha’s plenty coral down tha’, Chief. Yaas, sir, all erbout. Doan’ yo’ di’sarn ’em, Chief?”

“No,” replied Tom, “I can’t see a single white thing there—all I see are bright colored weeds and sea-fans and rocks.”

The negro looked genuinely surprised. “Bless yo’ soul!” he exclaimed. “Yo’ cawnt be a s’archin’ fo’ white coral is yo’? White coral’s jus’ dead coral, Chief. Tha’s da culmination o’ tha’ manner o’ it’s prep’ration, Chief. Yaas, sir, all tha’ objec’s yo’ di’sarn growin’ down to tha’ bottom is corals, Chief. Yaas, sir, some of tha’ kin’s is yellow an’ some red an’ some green.”

It was the boys’ turn to be surprised. “Why, you don’t mean all those things like stones covered with bright-colored weeds are coral!” exclaimed Frank incredulously.

“Yaas, sir, Chief,” the negro assured him. “Ah’ll demonstrate it to yo’ entire satisfaction, Chief.”

As he spoke, the half-naked negro stood up in the little craft and before the astonished boys realized what he was about to do he had plunged into the clear water and the boys watched in wonder as they saw him swimming easily straight towards the bottom, a little string of bubbles rising from him and the pink soles of his feet flashing strangely. In an instant he had reached the masses of growth on the sea floor and the boys saw him pulling and working at a projecting ledge of vivid violet and green. Then he turned and shot up to the surface like a flash. As he broke through the water he tossed a large lump of brilliant material into the boat and clambered over the stern.

Interestedly the boys examined what he had brought and to their absolute amazement discovered that it really was coral, but as the man explained, completely concealed under the fleshy covering of the animals which resembled tiny sea anemones of wonderful tints.

But after their first momentary surprise and interest at the discovery the two boys found much more to attract them in the denizens of the mass of coral than in the coral itself. Odd red and white crabs emerged from their hiding places, a tiny fish that glittered with the dazzling hues of a fire opal flapped from under a bit of adhering seaweed, funny slug-like molluscs of intense blue and gold crawled about the mass, queer little snails were everywhere and when the boys disturbed the coral or handled it they heard odd snapping noises like lilliputian firecrackers.

For a time this puzzled them until Frank discovered to his intense delight that the sounds were made by tiny lobster-like crustaceans that dwelt in holes in the hard coral and viciously snapped their claws when disturbed.

“Say,” asked Tom presently, “weren’t you afraid of a devil fish—octopus, you know—down there?”

“Bless your soul, no, Chief!” grinned the negro. “Tha’ fellow doan’ never humbug us. We eats them down here, Chief.”

“Eat them!” exclaimed Frank in surprise. “Gee! I’d hate to eat the slimy things. But I thought they attacked divers, pulled them down with their tentacles and killed them.”

“No, sir!” declared the boatman. “Tha’s jus’ foolishness. 'Cose a big fellow might humbug a diver, but Ah ne’er knew o’ such a happenin’ an’ Ah was spongin’ fo’ ten years an’ mo’.” Then a broad grin spread over the man’s face and he shook silently as though laughing to himself over some amusing memory. “Yaas, sir,” he went on. “Come to take consideration o’ the matter Ah did know o’ one o’ tha’ fellows makin’ to fight with a diver. Yaas, sir, a almighty big fellow—jes erbout three fathoms across he was, Chief. Yaas, sir, he went fo’ to make trouble with Mr. Rawlins, Chief, jus’ fo’ to commo-date the picture, but tha’ one was a tame orctopus—made out o’ rubber an’ springs fo’ the occasion, Chief.”

“Oh, yes, we heard about that,” said Tom, “but do you know Mr. Rawlins?”

“Bless yo’ soul, yaas, sir,” the negro assured him. “’Cose Ah knows Mr. Rawlins, ev’yone here knows he. Why, Ah been we’kin fo’ Mister Rawlins fo’ mos’ two years, Chief. Does yo’ know he too, Chief?”

“Oh, slightly,” replied Frank casually, realizing that they had not adhered strictly to their motto. “But how about sharks? Don’t they attack people in the water?”

The darky fairly guffawed with merriment. “Ah speculate some folks been a yarnin’ to yo’,” he declared. “Yaas, sir, das’ it. Sharks! Lord a’mighty 'cose tha’s sharks plenty hereabouts, but no one don’ make no flust’ration 'bout those fellows, no, sir! Why, Lawd bless yo’ soul, Chief, we Conchs goes down an’ kills sharks weselves. Yaas, sir, jus’ take a knife erlong an’ cotches hoi’ o’ a fin an’ slashes of them.”

“Gosh! then it’s true after all!” cried Tom. “The purser on the ship told us that, but we wouldn’t believe it.”

But despite the boys’ desire to see a shark and their boatman’s promise to demonstrate the fact that it is an easy matter to kill a ten-foot man-eater single-handed in his native element, none of the sea tigers presented themselves for the sake of the exhibition.

“Tha’ don’ is such a plenty o’ sha’ks roun’ here 'bout as tha’ was,” the boatman informed them when the boys expressed their surprise at seeing no sharks in waters which they had imagined teemed with them.

“Yo’ see tha’ tourists an’ folks what comes here-'bout cotches he an’ shoots at he an’ causes such a flustration 'mongst ’em tha’s mos’ all scared away, Chief. Yaas, sir, I 'spec’ if yo’ wants to see sha’ks yo’ll bes’ take a cruise 'board one of tha’ spongers. Tha’s plenty o’ sha’ks roun’ erbout tha’ cays an’ the sponging grounds.”

But the boys did see an octopus or “sea cat” as the natives call them. As they were returning to Nassau they passed a fishing boat and going alongside to see what the men had caught they were shown one of the devil fishes which had just been hauled up from its home on the ocean floor. It was not a large specimen—barely five feet across its outstretched tentacles, but as it writhed and squirmed upon the sloop’s deck the boys shuddered at its sucker-covered, snake-like arms, its hideous pulpy body and its cold, cruel, lid-less, unwinking and baleful eyes.

“Gosh! how can any one eat such things!” exclaimed Tom.

“And say, just imagine being tackled by such an awful beast down under the sea!” added Frank. “I’d die of pure fright, I believe.”

Little did the boys realize that they would have a chance to test their sensations under such circumstances and little did they know that the delicious, thick, stew-like soup which they had enjoyed so much was made from the repulsive octopus.

When the boys reached Nassau they found a trim little gray destroyer anchored off the town and the American flag, flapping gently in the breeze at her stern, left no doubt as to her nationality.

“Oh, say!” cried Frank. “There she is! Gee! why weren’t we here when she came in?”

“May not be,” declared Tom. “Lots of American destroyers drop in here and we won’t miss anything anyhow. The boat’s only reaching the dock now. She must have just come in.”

By the time the boys stepped ashore the officer from the destroyer’s boat had entered a rattle-trap carriage and had driven away, while about the white-clad bluejackets in the waiting cutter were crowds of blacks, laughing and jabbering and striving to sell the sailors everything from seed necklaces and bits of coral to pineapples and mangoes.

As they pushed through the close-packed, brightly-garbed throng the boys caught a glimpse of one broad-shouldered sailor who was arguing over a bunch of bananas with an immensely fat colored woman and instantly they recognized him.

“Say, ’tis the destroyer,” exclaimed Tom. “Look, there’s the bosun’s mate who told us about the schooner. Gee, I wonder if they got her!”

Hailing a carriage, for they were too eager to hear the news to walk, the two boys were driven quickly to their hotel and hurrying to their rooms found Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson talking with an officer in a commander’s uniform.

“Hello, just in time, boys!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling as the two appeared. “Commander West just got in and was about to give us the news.”

“I’m sorry it’s not very good news,” said the officer. “In fact no news at all—as far as results are concerned. We sighted the schooner just north of Watling’s island and signaled her to heave to, but she did not pay the least attention. We couldn’t send a shot after her, you know—serious matter to fire on or near a vessel on the high seas, and she was flying the British flag. Before we could come alongside she slipped in between the reefs and we had to slow down and feel our way—dangerous channels those between the coral, you know—and by the time we rounded the next cay she’d completely disappeared. Strangest thing I’ve ever seen. Not a trace of her, if she’d sunk with all on board she could not have vanished more mysteriously. Of course we supposed that she’d slipped into some little bay or cove where we couldn’t follow so we anchored and sent our boats off. They ran around every cay and island within sight, but not a sign of that blessed packet. It gets me, I admit.”

“H-m-m!” muttered Mr. Henderson. “Sort of phantom ship, eh? Was it possible she slipped away behind the islands while you were getting through the reefs?”

“Don’t see how she could,” replied Commander West. “Her topmasts would have shown up somewheres. No, she must have got into some landlocked bay that our men missed—hard thing to see some of those with the fringe of palms along the outer beach hiding the entrance, you know. Well, to continue. We decided to search every cay the next morning—it was pretty near dark then—and we did, but not a sign. Then we gave up and were cruising about, thinking she’d slipped out during the night and we might pick her up and the next day what do you think? Why we got a radio from Haverstraw of the Porter saying they’d sighted her over by the Caicos and that she gave him the slip among the reefs the same way. He had a little better luck though. Found her all right.”

“Hurrah!” shouted Tom as the commander hesitated. “Did they get the men?”

“They found her, as I said,” continued the officer, “anchored off one of the cays and—absolutely deserted!”

“Jove!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson. “Deserted! Confound those fellows. They seem to have a habit of deserting their ships! First the submarine and now the schooner. Did Lieutenant Haverstraw find anything on her?”

“Nothing suspicious,” replied the commander. “To all intents and purposes she was merely a fishing smack. Didn’t even have a wireless aboard. He might have towed her to port as a derelict, but he radioed for advice and I told him to leave her. If he’d brought her in there might have been too many questions asked—Admiralty investigation and all—these Britishers are just as particular about a smack as a liner when it comes to maritime law, you know, and they have a blamed uncomfortable way of asking too many questions sometimes. Of course I realize that the two governments would straighten it out and keep matters quiet, but the local authorities might not and she’s just as well off there as here as far as I can see.”

“Yes, no need of arousing curiosity,” agreed Mr. Pauling. “Did you search the islands near her to see if the men had gone ashore?”

“Haverstraw tells me he even looked inside the conch shells on the beach,” replied the officer with a laugh. “Says if he finds another abandoned ship he’ll resign—getting on his nerves. He’s the one who picked up the submarine, you know. However, I’m sailing for the Caicos this evening—if those men are on any of the cays or took to another vessel we’ll find them.”

“Oh, I’ve an idea!” exclaimed Tom who had been thinking rapidly. “If those fellows on the submarine deserted her and took to the schooner as we thought, perhaps they left the schooner and went to a submarine.”

“Well, I’ll be——” began Mr. Henderson. “Why in thunder haven’t we thought of that before? What did I tell you, Pauling? Didn’t I say these boys would give us old hands some new ideas? Jove! I’ll wager that is the solution. Probably knew where the sub was waiting and made for it. Had her ready for just such an emergency.”

“That may be it,” admitted Commander West, “but if ’tis where in the name of the Great Horn Spoon do they get the subs? They’re pretty darned expensive little toys, you know, and a chap can’t buy or build one the way he can a skiff. Seems to me some one would have known if there were mysterious submarines knocking about.”

“It is a mystery,” agreed Mr. Pauling, “but the whole affair has been full of mystery. I think, however, there may be a simple solution to this one. If we assume that the head of the organization is whom we suspect it to be he might well have obtained German U-boats. We must remember that in his original undertaking he possessed unlimited means and almost unlimited authority and had the confidence of the Prussian government. Is it not possible or even probable that he had several sub-sea craft on this side of the Atlantic—we know he made use of one in his nefarious scheme—and that with the failure of his plans and the collapse of Germany he appropriated the subs for his own private designs? The crews in fact might have joined with him—we have proof that some of those on the captured U-boat were formerly in the German navy and if he has a secret headquarters down here is it likely he would risk all on one submarine?”

“I imagine your theory is very nearly correct,” replied Mr. Henderson. “If so, there is little use in attempting to accomplish anything until Rawlins arrives. When should he be here, Commander?”

“That’s hard to say,” replied the officer. “We had a code message several days ago to the effect that she had completed refitting and was expected to sail any time. If she left the following day—let’s see, that was last Friday—she might be at her rendezvous by day after to-morrow—Thursday. I should hardly expect her before then. But Disbrow is posted near there and will undoubtedly notify you the moment she is sighted. You know the plan was for Rawlins to signal our ship about thirty miles off the island and then run submerged to avoid any possibility of being seen. Then Disbrow will radio you—Rawlins’ outfit might not reach you and a simple and innocent-appearing message from Disbrow would excite no comment. Well, I must be getting off. If we stay here too long these Conchs will wonder why we’re here. I gave out we just dropped in for fresh vegetables and fruit and I expect my gobs have loaded up by now.”

After the commander left, the conversation was all of this latest development in the search for the mysterious conspirators and every phase and theory was thoroughly threshed out without coming to any more definite conclusion than before.

“It’s just one confounded disappearance after another!” declared Mr. Henderson. “I shouldn’t be surprised now if Rawlins vanished or even if that Smernoff had gone up in a wisp of smoke.”

CHAPTER III—SURPRISES

As if in answer to his words, there was a knock at the door and as Tom opened it a colored boy handed him an envelope which he instantly recognized as a cable.

It was addressed to Mr. Pauling and as Tom’s father tore it open and glanced at its contents a strange expression swept over his face and he uttered a sharp ejaculation of surprise.

“Speak of angels, Henderson!” he remarked, as he passed the cable to his associate. “What do you think of that?”

“Well, I’ll be——” began Mr. Henderson as he hurriedly read the familiar cypher message, “Smernoff has escaped! Confound those fellows! Can’t they keep any one under lock and key? The second time too. Now there will be the devil to pay.”

“Yes, it’s regrettable,” agreed Mr. Pauling, “but I wouldn’t worry over him. The chances are they’ll get him again and I can’t see how it will be possible for him to reach his friends down here or even to communicate with them—with his submarine gone and his confederates arrested or dead. And we have all the information he could give us. No, I don’t think his escape will trouble us much in this undertaking. I’d hate to be in your shoes and in the States with him though. He’s sworn to ‘get’ you, Henderson, and he’s absolutely reckless and ruthless, as you know.”

“Gosh, he might come down here!” exclaimed Tom.

“Little chance of that,” his father assured him. “Every ship will be watched and don’t forget he has neither diving suit, radio nor undersea boat to help him. Besides he’ll find it a hard job to discover where we are. Don’t be nervous over him, boys.”

For several days nothing eventful occurred and the boys began to find time hanging heavily on their hands. Mr. Pauling would not consent to their taking a trip on a sponging vessel as they had hoped, for, as he pointed out, word from Rawlins might be received at any moment and there could be no delay. But the arrival of the mails from New York, bringing the latest radio news and radio periodicals, proved a godsend to the boys who had discovered that a tiny island the size of New Providence was somewhat limited in the interests it possessed for two go-ahead, strenuous lads, despite its picturesque town, its odd people and its beauties.

The two were soon deep in the latest developments of radio and were eagerly discussing plans for the wonderful things they would do when the present trip was successfully ended and they were once more in New York. Tom was just reading an article on the almost miraculous properties of specially prepared crystals of Rochelle salt when his father entered the room.

“Better pack your duds!” he exclaimed. “Here’s good news for you.”

“Oh, I bet Mr. Rawlins’s arrived!” cried Tom, throwing aside his magazine and jumping up.

“Right the first time!” his father replied, smiling. “That is, he has not arrived, but I have just received a radio message from Disbrow saying ‘William sends regards’ which means that the submarine has signaled and that all is well. He is probably close to the prearranged meeting place now and the launch is ready. Get your things together and we’ll be off. Remember, if any one questions you we are off for a fishing trip.”

Half an hour later the four were aboard a fast cabin launch which had been purchased and held in readiness for the news of Rawlins’ arrival.

Leaving Nassau astern, the launch was headed towards the north, but no sooner were they out of sight of any prying eyes which might be watching from the island, than they slipped behind some low cays and shifted their course to the east. At the wheel was a stalwart brown-skinned young man and Tom in whispers asked his father if he was sure the negro could be trusted.

Mr. Pauling laughed. “You’re getting as suspicious of every one as an old hand,” he replied. “Don’t fret over Sam, Tom. He’s been with us for years and very luckily too. He was born and bred in the Bahamas and these natives never forget a channel or a reef. He was with me when I was down here in the spring.”

“But I never saw him before,” said Tom, rather puzzled to know where this chocolate-colored addition to their forces had been hidden.

“Of course not,” chuckled his father, “and you never saw several other men in Nassau whom I might name. I might add another sentence to that excellent motto of yours and that is: ‘and be seen by no one until occasion calls for it.’ However, Sam saw you and was never very far from you. In fact I believe he once taught you that living corals are not white.”

“Jehoshaphat!” exclaimed Frank. “You don’t mean to say he’s the boatman!”

“Exactly!” replied Mr. Pauling. “Didn’t you recognize him?”

“But, but, the boatman didn’t look like him,” declared Tom, staring at the pilot, “he had a gray beard and gray hair and talked like one of the Conchs.”

“A little gray wool and a gray wig will work wonders—especially on a black man,” replied Mr. Pauling. “And remember Sam is a Conch as you call them and can naturally talk his native dialect.”

“Well, I never believed all those detective stories about men disguising themselves,” said Frank, “but I will hereafter.”

Mr. Henderson laughed heartily. “No real detective or Secret Service man uses disguises—that is false beards and wigs and make up—nowadays,” he declared. “To attempt a disguise would be to excite suspicions at once—any crook with half an eye would penetrate such makeshifts in New York; but with a colored man down here it’s different. The natives are not observant and there are few if any skillful crooks, and who would imagine for a moment that a negro was in the Service? No, boys, you must learn to believe only what you actually see.”

“Even less than that,” added Mr. Pauling. “I should say ‘believe only half that you see and nothing you hear.’”

“Then I only believe half of Sam and nothing he told us,” laughed Tom. “Did he really work for Mr. Rawlins?”

“Yes and no,” replied his father. “He met Rawlins when I did last spring and did take a part in one film—Rawlins wanted a man to tackle a shark under water and Sam volunteered; but he was not regularly employed.”

“Gosh, then Sam really has done that!” cried Frank. “Say, I hope we see a shark so he can do it for us.”

“Sam has other matters to attend to,” Mr. Pauling reminded him, “but if he has time when we reach the place we’re bound for he will no doubt gladly accommodate you and any sharks that may be about.”

Now that the boys knew the secret of the black man they decided to have some sport themselves and after securing Mr. Pauling’s and Mr. Henderson’s promises that they would not tell Sam that the boys knew that he was their former boatman, the two lads plied Sam with questions, pretending to swallow everything he said without hesitation. Then, very adroitly, they led the conversation into other channels and let out many hints that led Sam to believe they had penetrated his former disguise.

“What do you dye your hair with?” asked Frank innocently. “It used to be gray.”

Sam looked troubled. “Dye ma hair?” he replied, striving to maintain a puzzled expression and to speak in casual tones. “I guess you is jokin’. Ah don’t dye ma hair, Boss. No, sir, ma wool’s jus’ as the Lord made it.”

“Well why did you shave off your whiskers?” asked Tom. “Thought you looked too old to suit those darky girls in Nassau?”

Sam was now genuinely uneasy. “Ah doan’ bother wif she,” he declared indignantly, and unconsciously lapsing into the Conch vernacular. “Ah always shaves. Yaas, sir, Ah never grow no whiskers. Wha’ fo’ yo’ arsk such interrogation, Chief?”

“I guess a shark must have bitten it off,” suggested Frank in an undertone nudging Tom slyly, “or perhaps it was in the way when he dove after corals to show to some other Northerners looking for white corals.”

Sam turned and stared at the boys in amazement. “Lawd bless yo’!” he exclaimed. “Den fo’ a fac’ yo’ knowed me an’ was jus’ pretendin’ yo’ didn’t all tha’ time!”

“Of course!” replied Tom trying to keep a sober face as he saw Sam’s surprise and chagrin at having been discovered, “you must have thought we were green.”

For a moment, poor Sam seemed utterly dispirited. He had taken the utmost pride in his clever disguise and now, after all, these two boys had penetrated it. If that were so, then no doubt, others had done the same and Mr. Pauling and Mr. Henderson would blame him.

But the next instant a relieved look swept over his good-matured face as he caught sight of the two gentlemen trying to stifle their laughs, and, realizing it had all been a plant, he burst into a hearty roar of merriment over the way he had been fooled.

“Ah guess yo’ young gent’men did sure 'nough get ma goat!” he exclaimed, “an’ Ah’m jus’ boun’ fo’ to get yours an’ knife a sh’ak.”

Now that the boys had had their sport with Sam they found him a most interesting companion, and standing in the bows of the speeding launch, asked him innumerable questions about the various islets, the birds, the fish and the reefs they passed. It was nearly sundown when they sighted the island where it had been agreed they would meet Rawlins—a lovely palm-fringed islet with silvery-white beaches, and, much to the boys’ surprise, they saw the roofs of buildings peeping from among the foliage.

“Why, people live there!” cried Tom. “Say, we can’t meet Mr. Rawlins there.”

“Those are Rawlins’ buildings,” replied his father smiling at Tom’s distressed expression. “Didn’t I tell you? This is where he takes his undersea pictures—his studio and workshop, you know—but at this season it’s deserted. We’re perfectly safe there.”

A few minutes later the launch slipped through a narrow channel between outjutting ledges of jagged, gray coral rock and entered a beautiful little harbor or cove. On one side was a low point, covered with coconut palms, and on the other a white sand-beach with a small dock and with a large wooden building,—red roofed and with green shutters—just beyond.

“Well we’re here first,” exclaimed Tom as the launch forged slowly towards the dock. “There’s no sign of the submarine.”

“No, but some one’s here!” cried Frank.

As he spoke a figure appeared upon the dock holding glasses to his eyes and the next moment the boys recognized it.

“Gosh! It’s Mr. Rawlins!” shouted Tom. “But where is the submarine?”

A moment later the launch grated alongside the pier and Rawlins with a grin welcomed them.

“But—but, where’s the submarine?” demanded Tom before Rawlins could speak.

“Safe and sound!” he replied. “Welcome to my kingdom!”

Then, when the first greeting was over, he exclaimed. “I’ll say I’ve news for you! Couldn’t guess what ’tis. When we were tinkering around in that old sub, we found a secret compartment—sort of locker—and some darned queer things in it—radio stuff of some sort, I expect. I didn’t show it to any one—not even to our ‘Sparks’ but I’ve got it up at the house. Come on and have a look at it. And I’ve another surprise for you too—but that will keep—that’s for you, Mr. Pauling. Come along.”

Hurrying up the path between the hedges of gay-flowered hibiscus the party entered the building which served Rawlins as den, living place and workshop combined.

The boys were amazed as they glanced about. They had not expected to find anything on the island and here they were surrounded with every comfort. Luxurious wicker-work furniture all about; enlarged photographs-and paintings of scenes from Rawlins’ sub sea films on the walls; rugs of woven grass and matting on the polished floors; a phonograph in one corner and shelves of books.

On a stand at one side of the room was a model of a submarine complete in all its details; there were models of sailing vessels on shelves and freshly cut flowers filled vases and bowls.

“Say, you’ve a regular house here!” cried Tom, “It’s fine!”

“Oh, it’ll do for a hang-out,” replied Rawlins as he began to undo a package, “But you’ll like the studio better. Look here, what do you make of these?”

As he spoke he showed the boys the contents of the package. There were one or two of the single control coils the boys had already seen, a pair of peculiar phone receivers, several beautiful shining crystals, one of which was secured in a metallic stand or ring and an odd affair about two feet in length and three inches in diameter looking like an overgrown walking stick wound with wire and with a sliding ring upon it.

For an instant, the two boys gazed at the collection with puzzled, uncomprehending faces and then, suddenly, a queer look of mingled surprise, delight and understanding swept across Tom’s features.

“Gosh!” he cried, picking up one of the crystals, “Gosh! I’ll bet I do know what these are. Say, they’re those wonderful Rochelle salt crystals I was reading about. Now we will have something worth while! But I can’t imagine what this thing is, it looks like a funny big coil, but whoever saw a coil like it and with this sliding ring on it?”

It was now Frank’s turn to exhibit his knowledge of the latest discoveries in radio. “Hurrah, I know!” he exclaimed. “It’s a resonance coil! Don’t you remember, I was just speaking about it when your father told us to get ready? Say, these things beat loop aerials all to pieces. Why, that magazine said that with one of ’em you could tell where a sending station was and even how far away! It’s an aerial and tuning coil in one. Gee, Tom, we are in luck! If we want to find those chaps now we’ll have a regular cinch!”

At the boys’ excited exclamations Mr. Henderson, who had been examining a picture, turned to them.

“What’s all the excitement, boys?” he asked. “Anything interesting that Rawlins has found?”

“Well I should say so!” declared Tom. “Look, here’s some of those Rochelle salt crystals and a resonance coil. Do you know about them, Mr. Henderson?”

“Jove, you’re right!” ejaculated the other. “Yes, I’ve seen experiments made with the salt—and have seen them used in submarine work during the war too, and I’ve read Gen. Squiers’ articles on the resonance coil and its properties. No wonder those fellows in the sub got by with such things to aid them.”

“Well I suppose it’s all mighty plain to you, but I’ll be hanged if I can see where Rochelle salts come in,” declared Rawlins. “I thought that was medicine.”

“So it is, under certain conditions,” agreed Mr. Henderson, “but if the salt is prepared or ‘grown’ so as to form a certain kind of crystal it possesses almost magical properties. By its aid one can hear a fly walk, insects talk or molecules of metal turning over in an iron bar.”

“Nothing doing!” exclaimed Rawlins. “I can believe pretty big yarns after seeing what radio does, but I’m from Missouri when you talk about a bit of salt making a fellow hear a fly’s trotters or the inside of iron getting restless. You’ll have to show me.”

“That will be easy, I imagine,” replied Mr. Henderson. “Tom says he’s been reading the accounts of it. I expect he can make you hear your own thoughts almost. But with no exaggeration it is a most marvelous thing. During the war we used it as a detector to hear vessels at a distance—particularly subs, and it saved countless thousands of lives. One man in Washington is employed to devote all of his spare time merely to growing these special crystals. If Tom can arrange the apparatus on the submarine we can locate the other sub if we get near her. You’ve made a great find, Rawlins.”

“What’s that you said about another sub?” asked Rawlins. “Don’t tell me they’ve got another one!”

“That’s what we think,” replied Mr. Pauling. “I forgot you didn’t know.” In a few words he related Commander West’s story of the finding of the deserted schooner and the disappearance of the crew.

“I’ll say they’re some little deserters!” exclaimed Rawlins, “and you’re dead right about another sub, I’ll bet. And say, that helps us some too. They left that schooner and took to the U-boat—that is if they did have a sub at the Caicos. Well, that fits right in with my theory about the latitude and longitude. If they left the schooner there and took the sub you can bet the Caicos are not far from their hang-out. I’ll bet they knew the destroyer wouldn’t touch the smack and expected to lie low and take her again after the boys had cleared out. Why, they might have been lying submerged right alongside of her or with their periscope sticking up watching the destroyer from back of some reef or a bunch of mangroves. Yes, sir—if we hit the Caicos we won’t be far off.”

“H-m-m, there’s a lot of good reasoning there,” agreed Mr. Pauling. “And if we’re to prove the theory the quicker we get started the better.”

“Right you are,” agreed Rawlins. “We’re ready to sail any time. I just want to get a few things together and I’ll be with you. Want to have a look around the studio and shop, boys?”

The boys would gladly have remained for hours or even days in the studio but they realized there was no time to be lost. Here were diving suits of all kinds, sets representing the interior of ships and submarines, the yards and rigging of a bark complete, but with no hull, strange devices at whose use they could only guess and in one corner the enormous intricate octopus of rubber, springs and wire which when occupied by a man, could be made to imitate so perfectly the real creature that scientists who had seen the picture in which it figured had insisted that it was a genuine octopus.

The workshop also was full of interesting things. Here was where Rawlins and his assistants made the diving suits, the under-sea apparatus for taking the films, the lifelike octopus, the miniature ships, the complicated and wonderful counterfeits of the interiors of the submarines and many other objects.

But long before they had half time to examine all these things Rawlins was ready and leading the way along a narrow path through the brush headed for the other end of the island.

“Aren’t you afraid some one will disturb your property?” asked Mr. Henderson, “I shouldn’t think it safe to leave all these things unguarded.”

“I don’t,” replied Rawlins. “I have an old colored chap and his wife who live here. That’s why I kept the submarine out of sight.”

“Where are they now?” asked Mr. Pauling. “Are you sure their curiosity won’t be aroused and that they may not wonder at your sudden appearance and departure and our arrival?”

Rawlins laughed. “They might be curious or talk about a sub—if they saw it, but as far as I’m concerned they are quite sure I’m an obeah man—sort of witch-doctor you know—and absolutely incomprehensible. If I dropped from the sky in a parachute and left in a pillar of flame they’d think it quite in keeping with my habits and no more remarkable than walking into the sea and out again at will. Just at present they’re so busy over some things I brought ’em that they wouldn’t see a sub if it poked its nose into their cabin. And even if they wanted to talk they couldn’t, there’s not a soul living within a dozen miles.”

They had now come out of the brush upon a second miniature harbor where a small boat was drawn up on the smooth beach.

With Sam helping, Rawlins shoved off the boat as the others climbed in.

“We might have come around by the launch, I suppose,” Rawlins remarked, “but it’s safer over at the dock and this boat’s handier.”

Sam at the oars and Rawlins steering, the boat swept away from the beach and headed for a jutting point.

As they drew near and the boys were watching the circling seabirds and admiring the beautifully colored water, Rawlins spoke to Sam and ordered him to stop rowing.

“See anything of the sub?” he asked as the boat lost headway.

Every one gazed about, expecting to see the undersea boat just awash or just emerging from the surface, but not a ripple broke the glassy water. Along the shore they were approaching was a dense belt of green trees—mangroves and sea grape—with a few ragged coconut palms above all, but not a sign of anything remotely resembling a submarine.

“No, I give up,” said Mr. Pauling at last.

“So do I,” added Mr. Henderson.

“Me too,” said Tom.

“I don’t believe it’s here,” declared Frank.

Rawlins chuckled. “Thought it was pretty good,” he exclaimed. “You’ve been looking right at her, too.”

“Looking at her!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling.

“Where?”

“Straight ahead,” laughed Rawlins, “over against that point.”

All eyes were now turned towards the point and as Sam again took to his oars and they drew nearer and nearer the two men and the boys searched the rocks and greenery in vain.

Not until they were within one hundred yards of the shore were they rewarded. Then Tom uttered a cry. “Hurrah, I see it!” he shouted. “Gosh, but she was hidden! Say, how did you do it?”

“Just a bit of camouflage,” chuckled Rawlins. “Idea I got when making a set once. Thought it might be handy to be able to lie on the surface and not be seen sometime.”

“Well you’ve certainly succeeded,” declared Mr. Henderson. “The effect of the rocks and foliage is perfect. I’d defy any one to see her five hundred feet distant.”

Even now the outlines of the submarine were so hidden by the clever painting on her upper works and hull that the boys could not have been sure what was boat and what was foliage if a man had not appeared, emerging from a hatchway, and followed by two others.

The next minute the boat was alongside the craft, and scrambling onto her decks the boys gazed about with interest.

They had been on this same underseas boat before, but then she had been tied up to a dock in the Navy Yard and only curiosity to see what she contained had filled their minds. But now she was riding on the waters in the West Indies, she was manned and ready to sail and the boys were wildly excited at the thoughts of adventures to come and of sailing on a real submarine under the sea.

CHAPTER IV—RADIO MAGIC

“It appears to me there’s one point you’ve overlooked,” remarked Mr. Pauling as he glanced about. “I thought your main idea in using this submarine was that if sighted by any of those we are after they would recognize it and their suspicions would not be aroused. With this disguise they would never know the boat.”

Rawlins laughed. “Oh, I’ve kept that in mind,” he responded. “This is just a camouflaged camouflage.”

Then, before Mr. Pauling could ask for an explanation, he turned to the members of his crew, gave an order and, to the amazement of Mr. Pauling and his party, the men commenced to strip a layer of painted canvas from the submarine.

“By Jove!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson, “that’s cleverly done. I never realized it was not painted upon the vessel herself. You’re some artist, Rawlins.”

As soon as the canvas disguise had been removed, preparations were made to get under way and all entered the hatch in the superstructure.

“How about the destroyer?” inquired Mr. Pauling. “Did you arrange with Disbrow to be near in case of need?”

“Yes,” replied Rawlins. “We simply have to give him our position and he’ll be within an hour’s run.”

“Didn’t I understand you had a surprise in store for us?” asked Mr. Henderson. “What was it, that canvas camouflage?”

“Not a bit of it!” declared Rawlins. “It’s down below. Come along and have a look at it.”

Descending into the submarine, Rawlins led the way through the narrow passage past the engine room and stopped before a small iron door. “Be prepared for a jolt!” he warned them and as he spoke threw the door open.

As the two men glanced within they fairly jumped and both uttered involuntary cries of utter amazement. Seated upon a bunk in the small steel walled room was a man and no second glance was needed to recognize him. It was Smernoff!

But what a changed Smernoff! No longer did the small piglike eyes glare defiance and hatred at the Americans. His head was bowed upon his chest, his mouth, once so hard and cruel, drooped at the corners, his face was lined and seamed and his eyes held a far-away, wistful look.

“Where did he come from?” exclaimed Mr. Henderson, when he recovered from his surprise at this totally unexpected and almost miraculous reappearance of the Russian.

“And what on earth’s happened to him?” added Mr. Pauling. “Why, the fellow looks absolutely tamed and cowed—in fact broken. What have you done to him?”

“He’s tame all right,” replied Rawlins. “But we haven’t done a thing to him—except keep him locked up until we had orders from you. He’s no longer either an enemy or a ‘red,’ Mr. Pauling.”

“Well, you’re a most surprising man—I don’t wonder your darky caretakers believe you are in league with the devil—and you speak in riddles. Come, what’s the story? Why is this fellow so changed and what on earth do you mean when you say he’s no longer a ‘red’ or an enemy?”

But before Rawlins could reply a deep voice came from the room and with a start Mr. Pauling whirled about to find that Smernoff was speaking; and in English.

“Excuse, please,” he said in slow hesitating words. “Me, I no mek trouble, no. Me, I theenk maybe can help. Me, I want keel all Bolshevik fellow. Ah! heem, I dreenk he blood!”

“By Jove, he speaks English!” cried Mr. Henderson.

“I’ll say he does!” agreed Rawlins with a grin. “Always has, just been bluffing all along, but he’s through with that now. I’ll tell you the story in a few words. Two days out we sighted a disabled powerboat and running alongside found Smernoff just about all in lying in the bottom. You can just bet I was about knocked clean over when I saw him. Last I’d seen of him he was under lock and key in jail and here he was bobbing up in a little power boat in the middle of the Atlantic. Of course none of the men knew him so I said nothing—told them he was a bit looney and we’d have to keep him locked up.

“The next day he spoke to me in English and nearly bowled me over again by doing so. Then he told me he’d escaped and all about it. Said he’d got away by the aid of some ‘red’ sympathizers in the prison and had hidden with friends on the East Side somewhere down in Allen Street. While he was lying low he got word from Russia that his whole family—kids and all—had been murdered by the Bolshevists and he went clean off his head at that. It was one thing to be a ‘red’ and kill others and a different matter to have the ‘reds’ killing your folks.

“Well, the upshot of it was that he swung clean around and only had one thought and that was to get even. He started in by doing up all the ‘reds’ he knew around his hang-out and then hit it for the docks with the idea of clearing out—stowing away—in some ship that would get him to Europe. But he couldn’t make it. Too many cops about and so he grabbed a powerboat, paddled away from the docks at night and started for the open sea.

“He wasn’t nutty enough to expect to cross in the craft, but he had an idea he could get well off the land and sight some outward bound ship and get picked up. Only trouble was he hadn’t figured on a northwest gale which drove him off the steamships’ courses and left him disabled and without grub or water. Drifted three days and nights before we hove in sight. He thinks it’s a direct act of God and I don’t know but he’s right. At any rate, he’s keen on being with us and if he is in earnest—and I reckon he wouldn’t have taken the chance he did if he wasn’t—he’ll be a help to us all right.”

“It’s one of those miraculous coincidences that are far stranger than fiction,” commented Mr. Pauling. “But I am skeptical about his story. How do we know it is not a tissue of lies? He may have merely tried to escape the police in the launch and invented this yarn to hoodwink us. I guess we’d better keep him locked up.”

“Well he’s got the letter telling about his folks being killed,” said Rawlins.

“H-m-m, and his face is changed—I’m inclined to believe him,” declared Mr. Henderson. “You know, Pauling,” he continued, “there are no more vindictive enemies of the ‘reds’ than one of their company who suffers at their hands. You must remember that Ivan was as fanatical a Soviet as ever lived until his parents were butchered.”

“Yes, you’re right, Henderson,” admitted Mr. Pauling. “We’ll have a long talk with Smernoff and get at the truth. But for the present we’ll leave him. Plenty of time after we’re under way.”

Rawlins grinned, “We’re under way now,” he remarked. “Have been for the past fifteen minutes. Didn’t you hear the engines?”

“Jove, you don’t say so!” exclaimed Mr. Henderson.

“Gosh, I can’t believe it!” cried Tom.

“Why, I thought that noise was just the dynamos!” put in Frank. “Say, are we under water?”

“Surest thing you know!” replied Rawlins. “She’s under her electric motors now and runs smooth as a watch. Come on, boys, and have a squint through the periscope.”

“We’ll stay behind a bit and talk to Smernoff,” said Mr. Pauling. “No use in keeping him locked up if he’s in earnest.”

Reaching the observation room Rawlins led the boys to the eye-piece of the periscope and as Tom squinted into it he gave a delighted cry.

“Gosh, Frank, we are under water! Say, I can see the island back there pretty near two miles away. Isn’t it great! Think of being in a real submarine under the sea!”

Frank was as delighted and interested as Tom when his turn came to have a look. Then, a few minutes later, the louder rumble of the Diesel motors throbbed through the undersea craft and Rawlins announced that they were on the surface.

“No use running submerged except when in sight of land or a vessel,” he said, “she doesn’t make half her speed underwater and it’s a strain on her and we might bump into a reef. I’m not any too familiar with the channels that will accommodate her submerged.”

Hurrying up the steel ladder the boys and Rawlins reached the deck and gazed about, delighted at the speed the craft was making and the novel sensation of traveling on a submarine. But there was really little to be seen and the vessel might have been an ordinary ship as far as appearances or sensations were concerned. Noticing the aerial overhead, the boys’ minds at once turned to radio.

“Are our things all right?” Tom asked Rawlins. “I guess we might as well get busy and set them up. We may need them at any time.”

“Sure they’re all right,” replied the diver. “But say, I’ve been wondering how you’ll work this thing. Won’t the steel hull interfere with the waves?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Tom, “but we’ll soon find out. At any rate if the others sent and received messages in this craft we can.”

“Well if they could and they did why did they need this gadget overhead?” asked Rawlins.

“Maybe that was just for sending when on the surface,” suggested Frank. “You know those sets of ours would only send a short distance under water and we used mighty short wave lengths. If they wanted to send and receive ordinary messages they’d need this aerial, I expect.”

“Hadn’t thought of that,” said Rawlins. “I never can get onto this radio stuff. By the way, how about showing me how a fellow can hear a fly jazzing and all that?”

“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom, “I’d almost forgotten those crystals. Say, I’ll bet that’s how they received under water. Come on, let’s try some experiments.”

Descending the ladder, they made their way to the radio room and Rawlins hauled out the cases in which the boys’ undersea radio sets were packed. The naval operator who was in charge of the room looked rather contemptuously at the “kids” as he considered them, but his attitude underwent a tremendous change when he learned that the “kids” were in control of the radio aboard and that he was subject to their orders.

“Let’s try those crystals first,” suggested Frank. “I’m crazy to see if they’ll really do all that article said they would.”

As the boys got out the big crystals the regular operator’s eyes gleamed. “By Jupiter!” he exclaimed, “That’s the first time I’ve seen those since the war. We used ’em in submarine detectors you know—could hear a sub’s screw whirring three miles off.”

“Hurrah, then you know about them!” cried Tom. “I’m awfully glad you do. We only read about them and Mr. Rawlins wouldn’t believe the things we told him, so we’re going to show him.”

“Well, I don’t know such an all-fired lot either,” admitted the naval man. “But I know they worked wonders as we used ’em.”

“Let’s see,” said Tom as he examined the crystal in its metal support. “We have to connect it with our amplifier. There, that may not be right, but it’s the way I understand it. Then we connect another crystal to the amplifier. Now let’s see. They say that if this is done right and the first crystal is scratched or rubbed on something, the second one will reproduce the noise, only thousands of times louder.”

As he spoke, he gingerly touched the crystal, but nothing happened. With a puzzled look he rubbed his finger across it and still no result. Then, opening his pocket knife he scratched the crystal deeply, but still nothing occurred.

Rawlins began to laugh. “Nothing doing!” he exclaimed. “I’ll bet they’re only good for medicine.”

“I expect we haven’t got it connected properly,” said Frank. “Let’s try a different combination.”

While he spoke the two boys were busy disconnecting and rearranging the wires while Rawlins chuckled and kidded them good-naturedly.

Finally the boys had the wires connected and as Tom turned on the filament to the amplifier tubes in preparation for another trial Rawlins, who had been casually examining a bit of crystal tossed it onto the table. Instantly there was a shivering crash.

“Struck a reef!” cried Rawlins, and with frightened eyes all stood motionless, silently staring at one another and expecting each moment to feel the craft reeling or to hear excited shouts from the engine room. Was she injured? Was their cruise to end so soon? Was the submarine sinking? Such thoughts sped through the boys’ minds and each wondered how long they would stand there waiting for the order to desert their craft. But the steady throb of the engines continued. No sounds of excitement came from the engine crew. No signal from the navigator.

“Well I’ll be jiggered!” ejaculated Rawlins. “Must have just scraped bottom. Close shave though. Well, I guess you’re satisfied those salt rocks aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”

As he ended Rawlins contemptuously flipped his finger nail against a crystal and almost bumped his head against the low ceiling as he leaped aside, for at the touch of his finger nail a high-pitched shriek seemed to issue from the crystals.

“Hurrah!” shouted Tom. “Hurrah! Now do you say they don’t work!”

“Oh, oh!” cried Frank between peals of laughter. “Oh, oh! That is one on you, Mr. Rawlins. That ‘struck a reef!’ Say, that wasn’t a reef, that was just the crystal you tossed on the table!”

Rawlins stood staring with gaping mouth and incredulous eyes.

“Sure it was!” repeated Frank. “See here!” Picking up the fragment of crystal he dropped it on the table top and again the rattling crash resounded through the room.

“Well!” cried Rawlins. “That beats anything I ever saw or heard by twenty miles.”

Half fearfully he reached forward and moved the crystal and a dull grating noise resulted. He tapped gently on the table and the blows resounded through the room like strokes of a sledge hammer.

“Beats the Dutch, don’t it!” exclaimed the operator. Then, taking out his watch he placed it on the table near the crystals and instantly steady beats like a hammer ringing on an anvil came from the crystals.

“Oh, here you are!” exclaimed Mr. Pauling who now entered the room. “What are you up to? Oh, I see—trying to show our Missouri friend! Well, how does it work?”

“I’ll say I’m shown!” declared Rawlins. “Darndest thing I ever saw! Just look here, Mr. Pauling. Drop something on the table there.”

Rather curiously, Tom’s father drew a coin from his pocket and dropped it on the table as suggested and at the resounding bang that followed he uttered an exclamation of amazement and involuntarily jumped back.

“You don’t mean to say that was the sound of a dime dropping?” he cried. “Why, it’s simply marvelous—absolutely uncanny.”

“Now don’t you believe you could hear a fly walk?” demanded Tom of Rawlins.

“You bet, and a mosquito sneeze!” replied the diver. “I’ll wager you could hear a man write his own name.”

Drawing a pencil from his pocket he wrote his name upon the paper covering the table, and all gasped in wonder as each stroke of the pencil came to their ears in grating, reverberating howls.

“Ah ha!” ejaculated Mr. Henderson who had approached unseen. “So you’ve found the magic in the crystals! But I’d wager you haven’t found all the wonders they contain yet. I suppose you haven’t a phonograph on board?”

“One of the men has,” replied the naval operator. “Shall I fetch it, sir?”

“Yes, if you will,” said Mr. Henderson. “I’ll show you a singing crystal in a moment, and there’s another thing. These crystals possess another remarkable property—they generate electricity.”

“Generate electricity!” cried Tom in puzzled tones. “How can they do that?”