The Submarine Boys' Lightning Cruise Part 33

John Rhinds gnashed his teeth in his fury. Had he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, just then, the man would have been afraid of his own reflection.

Yet, with all his guilty knowledge of what he had encouraged Radwin to do, it did not occur to Rhinds to lay the blame anywhere except upon the shoulders of honest, though hard fighting, Captain Jack Benson.

Presently, John Rhinds cooled down.

He even became suave and smiling--though under the smile a ghastly pallor lay on his cheeks.

This change of outward temper was all because he was forced to become crafty before others.

It is a common way with many newspapers to leap on a man and trounce him, figuratively speaking, and then to send reporters around to see how the victim has enjoyed the flaying.

That was what happened to John Rhinds.

Within half an hour after the newspapers had come to him a message over the telephone from the hotel office informed the president of the Rhinds Submarine Company that a reporter was below who wished to interview Mr.

Rhinds.

"Ah! Er--huh!" choked the wretch, swallowing hard. "Have the young gentleman shown up, of course. And send up any other reporters who may ask for me."

By the time that the first reporter reached the door Rhinds had carefully removed all traces of the torn newspapers. The old man was calm. He even smiled slightly, though he affected to be stung to the soul by the thought that any American could think that he, or any of his party aboard the "Thor" could have been guilty of such a fearful attempt of crime.

"But of course, young man," urged Rhinds, suavely, "you will be able, through the great power of the press for right, to set all suspicions at rest. You will, I beg of you, give renewed publicity to the fact that we were found to have our full number of torpedoes aboard. That one fact, of course, disposes of any suspicion that we could have thought of doing such a fearful thing."

The reporter was young, but he was not lacking in shrewdness. This boyish-looking journalist had interviewed smooth-talking scoundrels before.

"There is one little point I would like to inquire about, Mr. Rhinds,"

hinted this reporter, chewing at the end of his pencil.

"A dozen--a hundred points--anything you want to know!" protested the man who was being interviewed.

"Thank you," nodded the reporter, coolly. "Now, it is a well-established fact that you had your full number of torpedoes aboard, when the naval officers searched. But have you any place on board the 'Thor' that would serve as a hiding place for an extra torpedo--an extra torpedo that might, let us say, have been obtained in any one of a number of ways?"

John C. Rhinds began to feel great waves of chill pa.s.sing up and down his spine. Hang this smiling, boyish reporter! Rhinds began to feel that he hated this young man next to Jack Benson!

"No!" shouted the interviewed one, hoa.r.s.ely, angrily. "We have no such hiding place on board. We have no place that could be used for hiding an extra torpedo."

The reporter nodded, then continued with a cool smile:

"Thank you, Mr. Rhinds, for answering so important a question on such a vitally important point. It is very important to have the suspicion disposed of that such a hiding place might exist."

"Very important," confirmed John Rhinds, leaning forward in his most impressive manner. "And you have my authority for settling the point for good and all."

"So that, of course, Mr. Rhinds," pursued the cool, smiling young reporter, "you will be most glad when I suggest to you the importance of allowing a commission composed of, say, an editor and two reporters from the 'Gazette' to go aboard the 'Thor,' search for such a hiding place, and then be prepared to inform the world that no such hiding place exists on the 'Thor.'"

That proposition came like a torpedo itself; it struck, too, below the water-line of John Rhinds's hard-won composure.

"Why do you--?" he stammered. Then the wretch forced himself to be cool again.

"No, my young friend, I am sorry to say that that would not be practicable. You see, a submarine craft is full of secrets. Outside of our own crew none but officers of the Navy can be permitted to go below the platform deck of any of my boats."

"Oh, well, then," nodded the reporter, "the 'Gazette' can clamor for a naval board to be appointed to make the search, and at once. That will serve the purpose as well, Mr. Rhinds--and it will answer the most burning question that the public will want to ask."

Then came the other reporters. Rhinds saw them all, wore before them all the mask of wounded innocence, showed them all how easily they might allay all public suspicions.

Then, when the last reporter had departed, John Rhinds, feeling too weak to stand, sank down upon a sofa, covering his face with his hands.

Thus, for some time he lay, hardly giving signs of life. His fright was great, indeed.

In striking this blow young Captain Jack Benson had struck far harder than he had even dreamed.

When Rhinds began to realize things once more he missed Fred Radwin--Radwin, the seeming fugitive, who had run away from his foul leader at the first sound of a police voice.

Still, it was possible that Radwin was not far away. Possible, also, that in this fact lay time greatest danger that had ever menaced Jack Benson.

CHAPTER XXI

JACK MEETS A HUMAN FACT, FACE TO FACE

There was no thought of dinner for John Rhinds that evening.

After the newspaper men had gone the artful schemer spent a long time in drafting two or three telegrams that he felt it necessary to send to members of his state's Congressional delegation at Was.h.i.+ngton.

In the telegrams that were finally sent, the president of the Rhinds Submarine Company referred to himself as apparently the victim of a very clever but diabolical plot to ruin his company. He asked the members of Congress for his state to see to it that he was given a full opportunity for justice.

"Justice? Ugh!" muttered the old man, as he scanned one of his telegrams. "Well--er--not if it means punishment!"

Hardly had he sent away these telegrams, and even as he was giving thought to sending down an order to have dinner served in his rooms, Rhinds received a telegram from the editor of a New York daily, asking for his version of the torpedo mystery.

From the wording of the telegram, it was plain that the story had gotten as far as New York, and that the editor regarded it as the big, sensational news story of the hour.

Groaning, Rhinds bent over to begin work on this new telegram that was demanded of him. It proved to be a hard message to write. Even while he worked over the difficult problem, a second telegram arrived, this from the editor of a Philadelphia morning paper. Then came two from Boston.

"Good heavens! I can't keep up this pace," groaned John Rhinds. "These editors won't even give me time for sleep."

Sudden blackness came over his eyes as he sat back, trying to think it all out.

"I can't answer any of these telegrams," he muttered, tearing up the offending messages. "Oh, why did Radwin have to take wings at the very time when I need him most! Fred Radwin, with his cool nerve, his steely eyes and his glib, lying tongue, would have been ready with answers for all these questions. But I can't do it. I'll need a strait-jacket, if these telegrams continue to arrive!"

Yet several more telegrams did come in, from newspapers in various Eastern states. Rhinds read them, groaned and tore up the messages.

Then he smoked strong cigars, one after another, but that only made his nerves worse. When he went to bed, late that night, he slept some, yet it was mainly to dream hideous dreams.

In the early morning Rhinds sent for morning newspapers. These contained what he had said to local reporters, but his version, with the newspapers' comments added, only made matters worse. "That infernal 'Gazette,'" in especial, printed, in bold type, the account of his refusal to let a committee of newspapermen examine his boat for a secret hiding place large enough to hold an extra torpedo.

That forenoon sh.o.r.e boats did a thriving business in carrying people out on trips around the Pollard and Rhinds submarines. Trains brought in folks from other towns, all anxious for a glimpse of the submarine craft.

"This will drive me wild, yet," groaned Mr. Rhinds. "It's an outrageous shame."