appearance of the
submarine. The next time Farnum glanced at his watch the time had
lengthened to fifteen minutes. Then the time dragged by to half an hour.

David Pollard was fighting hard to conceal the nervous dread that had
seized him.

"Farnum," he found chance to whisper, at last, "something tragic has
happened to the boys, at last. What on earth can it be? Whatever it
is, we're utterly powerless to help them!"

CHAPTER VII

MISSING--A SUBMARINE AND CREW

Fifteen minutes more dragged by.

"Where's your show, Mr. Farnum?"

"Something has gone wrong, eh?"

The correspondents were pressing about the worried builder and the uneasy
inventor.

"There's a tragedy going on over there, isn't there?" demanded another
journalist, pointing out across the water.

"I--I'm afraid there is a chance of it," nodded Mr. Farnum, dejectedly,
again looking at the watch in his hand. "It's getting on toward an hour
since the 'Pollard' went down."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Is there no way to rescue the crew?"

"Don't let those boys die, without lifting a finger to save them."

"Get busy, man--in heaven's name, get busy!"

Such were the comments, questions and advice that poured in on the
builder. David Pollard, his sensitive nature suffering extremely, shrank
back out of the crowd.

"Gentlemen--and ladies, too--don't you understand that nothing really
can be done--at least not in a rush?" cried Jacob Farnum, the cold sweat
standing out on his face. "There isn't a diver in or near Dunhaven, and
that unfortunate boat is down in seventy feet of water. I'm going to
rush a wire to the nearest place where I know a diver to be, but I--I am
certain that it will be hours before we can hope to have one here. That
is all--all that can possibly be done."

"Oh, this is dreadful!" sobbed one of the women writers. "Those brave,
splendid boys--such a fearful fate!"

"Must they be asphyxiated down there, below?" cried another woman.

"Don't," choked Jacob Farnum. "I must rush for the telegraph station and
get off a message for a diver--also for a wrecking company to send tugs
and floats here for raising the 'Pollard.' Yet it will take a wretchedly
long time."

"And the boys? Rescue will come too late to save them?" asked a newspaper
man, with a decided choke in his voice.

Jacob Farnum made a wild dash for his office, telephoning for a messenger
boy. While waiting he wrote two telegrams in fev