Past these deserted buildings—which but lately had rung with stroke upon stroke of the workmen’s hammers—they went, under the guidance of the footman, until they stood beside the great dock, wherein lay floating the craft they had dared so much to obtain.
Producing an electric lantern, the footman cast its beams over the gleaming hull of the vessel.
“Wonderful!” the conspirators cried, as their eyes drank in the singular beauty of the boat. For a few moments they stood lost in admiration. On the quay alongside stood the piles of stores, awaiting shipment on the morrow, should the trial trip prove satisfactory, and the sight of them reminded the leader that that vessel was not yet theirs.
“Aboard with you,” he cried, and led the way over the gangway.
His two colleagues followed, leaving the footman on the quay.
A moment later a blaze of light came from the turret of the submarine.
The boat-stealers had switched on the great searchlight which topped the turret of the vessel, and its beams illumined the whole dockyard.
“Sharp there, Benson!” the leader called, and at the words the footman moved to a great winch, which stood beside the dock.
Putting forth his whole strength, he commenced to turn the handle, thus opening the gates of the dock, and making a free passage for the submarine to the North Sea.
The plotters had chosen their time well, for the tide was at its flood. Casting off the mooring ropes, the footman leapt aboard, and passed down the steps to the engine-room.