The eyes of all five were fixed on a small but ingenious bit of mechanism that had been carefully adjusted near the rear port of the boat's torpedo tube. This was the automatic device, first planned by Jack Benson, with the aid of his mates, and carried forward to working order by Mr. Pollard. By the aid of this automatic mechanism it was believed that the last man aboard a torpedo boat could let himself into the tube, relying upon the automatic device first to close the rear port, then opening the forward port and at the same time letting just the right amount of compressed air into the tube. By this means the last man aboard a submarine below the surface could provide for his own escape, without the aid of a comrade.

Eph Somers had been chosen to make the effort. He now stood, in his bathing suit, awaiting the word.

"Go ahead, Eph," ordered Mr. Farnum. "Be very careful to set the device just right. Not one of us is going to touch it."

Eph carefully set the time hand on the dial, next crawled into the torpedo tube, the rear port of which stood open. Sixty seconds later the automatic device closed the rear port with a sharp click.

David Pollard counted up to fifteen.

"He must have had time to get clear of the boat," quivered the inventor.

"Now, captain, take us to the surface."

In a twinkling, almost, the "Pollard" was riding the waves.

"There's Eph, dancing up and down on the beach," reported Captain Jack, from the conning tower.

"It worked like a charm," chuckled Eph Somers, gleefully, as soon as the others had joined him on shore. "That little charge of compressed air shot me out of the tube, and up I bounded to the surface, like a piece of cork."

"Now, we really lead the whole world in submarine boating," cried Mr. Farnum, hoarsely. "I don't care what any other inventor may have discovered, I'm satisfied that no one else can a boat as safe for the crew as the good little old 'Pollard' is!"

So happy did all of the five feel, in fact, that they shook hands gleefully, all around. Then, while Eph rowed out to the craft to dry himself and get into uniform, Jacob Farnum ran to the machine shops, there sounding several sharp, triumphant blasts on the steam whistle.

The whole affair-Eph's escape to the surface, the joy of the submarine, party and the blowing of the whistle, were all noted by a spy whom Don Melville had set to the task of watching the Farnum crowd.

Don was equally well aware that David Pollard had been working day and night in his room at Mr. Farnum's house.

"They've discovered something that pleases them mightily," thought Don, sick with rage. "What can it be? I'm going to know, if money has still any power to buy other men's services."

"Jack Benson may be very happy now," muttered Don, vindictively, "but his joy shall soon be turned to ashes-or worse."

Nor was Don Melville speaking by mere guesswork. His ignoble nature had evolved the whole plan by which Jack was to be ruined. Don even stooped to use his father as an innocent tool in a series of rascally deceptions.

"I got word that you wanted to see me at once," said Broughton Emerson, dropping in upon Mr. Melville that afternoon at the hotel.

"I certainly do," returned Mr. Melville, leading the way to an inner room. "Emerson, you remember my telling you that Farnum's crew are wholly willing to sell out their people if the price is big enough?"

"Yes, certainly."

"Would you like to see that proved?"

"By all means, if it can be," replied Mr. Emerson, a look of keen anxiety in his eyes, for he had finally determined to use his own judgment and invest heavily in the Farnum submarine enterprise.

"Will you consent to doing a little watching with me?" asked Mr.

Melville.

"What's in the wind?"

"To-night, at eleven o'clock, on a lonely bit of road well out of town," replied George Melville, "young Captain John Benson has agreed to meet my son, Don."

"For what purpose?"

"Pollard has recently perfected a submarine boat device of the greatest practical value. Young Benson has promised Don to steal the drawings and descriptions pertaining to that device, and to turn them over to Don, for a price, of course!"

"It's horrible-unspeakable!" gasped Mr. Emerson, indignantly.

"Of course. But I want you to understand the kind of crowd that surrounds Farnum. It will be a guide to you in investing with those people. If you go with me, to the appointed place, ahead of time, and we hide close enough to witness the whole transaction, then you'll believe all that I've been telling you, won't you?"

"Of course," nodded Mr. Emerson, speaking thickly. His whole soul revolted at the treachery of such a transaction, which made him add:

"But won't you and your son, Melville, be in as bad a light through profiting by such infernal treachery?"

"We would, if we did profit," replied George Melville, flushing. "However, as soon as Don has dismissed the young blackguard, Benson, my son will touch a lighted match to the papers and burn them all, with yourself looking on. What do you say, Emerson?"

"It's a mean kind of business to take any part in," protested Broughton Emerson, hoarsely. "But-yes, I'll go, for if such things can be done it is my duty to myself to know."

Plans were thereupon made for the meeting in the evening. Broughton Emerson, honorable and broad-minded went away from that meeting heavy of heart. He hated the whole business, and yet he admitted to himself that he must know the truth ere he invested a fortune in other folks' business game. Yet, weighed down by the sickening feeling that, at best, he was about to play the spy, Mr. Emerson presently called up Jacob Farnum on the telephone.

"Farnum," he said, "I understand that something is to happen, to-night, that you and I ought to know."

"What is it?" asked the boatbuilder, alive with curiosity.

"I'll give you a chance to find out, to-night, but you must pledge me your word that you won't breathe a word of this, until afterwards, to anyone, not even to Pollard. Just come along and learn what you learn, then act as you please. Will you agree to that?"

"Yes," promised Mr. Farnum.

"Good enough. Then be at-" Broughton Emerson followed with directions for late the coming evening. He did not explain who was to be spied upon, or anything of the nature of the business, though he did add:

"Don't be surprised, Farnum, no matter whom you see me with. It's all a part of the night's walk. Just follow us both, without letting your presence be known at any stage. I know this all sounds mysterious, but believe me, it's going to be vastly worth your while."

The remainder of the afternoon the boatbuilder's heart was, somehow, heavy with undefined dread as to what he was to learn that night.

In the middle of the afternoon, Don Melville, with the aid of one of his father's Italian workmen, laid the last stone in the edifice of trickery that he was building for the crushing of Jack Benson.

"Jack was coming down the street from the village, when his steps were arrested by the sound of a sharp:

"Hist!"

Turning, he saw an Italian workman, beckoning mysteriously. Jack went curiously up to him.

"I have message for you-you alone," whispered the Italian, speaking fairly good English. "You are in danger of great meanness. One of your enemies plots it."

"You're one of the Melville workmen, aren't you?" asked Captain Jack, looking curiously at the fellow.

"Yes, and you have bad, wicked enemies over at our place."

"I guess that may be true enough," smiled Jack, grimly.

"Some of us are bad over there, and some honest," went on the Italian. "Some of us hate much to see dirty work done, and I have friend who works also for Melville. My friend knows all about what Don would do against you. It is wicked-very. Meet my friend, to-night, at nine o'clock, and he will tell you all-everything. I cannot tell you now. But you will meet my friend?"

"Yes, I guess I will," nodded Jack Benson.

"But you must go alone; not tell your odder friends. Until you have seen my friend you must keep all this gr-reat secret."

After some further talk Jack Benson agreed to all this. The Italian seemed wholly honest and earnest. Moreover, he appeared as though greatly troubled and anxious to save the submarine boy from some unusually mean trick.

So Jack Benson walked on, thinking deeply and wondering much. He had no suspicion of any trap against him in the person of this seemingly very honest Italian, and so Don Melville had succeeded in laying the last wire of his despicable plan.

At half-past eight that fateful night Captain Jack found a pretext for leaving his companions. Swinging out onto the road, and down past the new Melville yard, he went on briskly to the point, well out of town, that had been named for the meeting.

"I wonder if I'm foolish?" he thought, suddenly. "Is there any trick in all this? But, pshaw! The Melvilles surely aren't that kind of people, and no one else has anything against me. It's all likely enough that Don is putting up some mean game against me down at the yard, or that he's saying something mighty mean against me. Whatever it is, these Italians are honest enough to feel disgusted, and they want to warn me. Yet they don't want to have any Melville eavesdropper seeing them with me. That's all natural enough, for these Italians have their jobs to look out for, even if they do hate the rascals who pay 'em wages."

So Captain Jack kept on his way, feeling that any suspicions of the

Italians were unfounded and therefore unnecessary.

David Pollard, after wandering through the grounds around the Farnum home, that evening, and missing his friend, the owner, at last decided to go to his own room and read.

Always soft-footed, Mr. Pollard made no noise until he turned the knob of the door to his room. There was a sudden, scurrying sound inside. Though he was a man of very nervous temperament the inventor was no coward. He darted in, in time to see a figure making through the dark for an open window.

"Who's there Here! Stop!" thundered the inventor, rushing forward.

But the intruder did not obey.

Hidden behind a book in a bookcase was the inventor's revolver. Mr. Pollard hauled the book out, dropping it, and, in a trice, had the weapon in his hand, racing again toward the window.

The intruder had gained the ground by the time that Mr. Pollard reached the window.

"Stop, you thief! Hold up, or I'll shoot!" warned the inventor.

However, the skulker took to his heels. Pollard fired once, the flame spitting from the muzzle of his revolver. But the figure still continued in flight, and the inventor realized that there was no further use in firing.

"That was odd," thought Pollard. "The fellow had on a uniform just such as our boys wear. If it weren't so absurd, I might be tempted to believe, despite the darkness, that it was Jack Benson. But he would have no need to break in here."

Then Mrs. Farnum appeared, with the servants, for the shot had alarmed the household.

"Have you found that anything is missing from here?" inquired Mrs.

Farnum, while Mr. pollard searched and explained at the same time.

The inventor now halted before his desk, rummaging.

"Yes," he answered, dryly, though with a slight quaver in his voice. "The thief found and departed with the drawings of a most important new device, originated by Benson and his friends and finished by myself. I'd rather lose a large sum of money than those drawings."

At about this time Jacob Farnum was prowling carefully about the spot that Mr. Emerson had named. He waited there, in hiding, for a long time, ere Messrs. Melville and Emerson came along. He let them pass, then followed slyly, in accordance with Broughton Emerson's directions of that afternoon.

"Now, what on earth does this all mean?" wondered Jacob Farnum, unable, despite his curiosity, to regard this expedition without a feeling of considerable disgust with himself. "Confound it, it's unmanly, this spying on someone else! It makes me feel like a rubber-soled detective, a thug or a labor picket trying to 'warn' a workman with a lead-stuffed club! Yet Emerson is a gentleman, or I've been fooled. It must be all right, I suppose."

The night was dark, and the moon not yet quite due to rise. When it did come up above the horizon it was certain to be more or less obscured by the clouds hanging there.

While Messrs. Melville and Emerson stepped off along the road, Jacob Farnum was forced to keep behind bushes and other natural objects of cover, which increased the boatbuilder's uneasy feeling that he was, doing something well nigh dishonorable.

At last, however, the two capitalists stepped off the road, concealing themselves in a clump of bushes as though by previous understanding.

"It looks like a prearranged meeting of some sort," reflected the boatbuilder, after having crept close enough to be able to see and to overhear.

Five minutes went by. Then Don Melville, narrowly escaping running into

Mr. Farnum, appeared suddenly before his father and Mr. Emerson.

"It's almost the time, now," laughed Don, speaking in a low voice, as he held his watch close to his eyes. "I'll slip right down into the road, in plain sight, where you can see what happens."

Back of all the rest, in the bushes, Jacob Farnum muttered, disgustedly, to himself:

"I like it little enough to find George Melville this. I like it still less, now that I find Don having a finger in the pie of mystery."

Smoke wafted back from a cigarette that Don was smoking. A few minutes thus passed, when there came the sound of a low whistle. Tossing away the stub of his cigarette, Don answered with another whistle.

Broughton Emerson straightened up instantly, being well enough hidden for that, and so did Jacob Farnum, whose presence, of course, was unsuspected by either of the Melvilles.

Then out from the cover of the woods stepped a boy of sixteen, in a uniform like that worn by the submarine boys.

"Have you got the plans?" asked Don, in a low voice that was yet distinct to all the listeners.

"Yes," came in a hoarse whisper, from the one in uniform.

"Pass them over, then," commanded Don. "That's right. Here's your money, in this envelope."

Just then ray from the rising moon struggled through the filter of clouds, the light touching lightly upon the uniformed one.

Jacob Farnum started as though he had been shot. There was a great bound at his heart.

"Jack Benson!" he throbbed. "By the Great Shark, are my eyes playing me a hideous prank?"

Chapter 9 A RASCALLY PIECE OF WORK

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