A moment later the Seal was leaping forward, with her engines running at twenty-five knots.
For some little time Garth stood watching the wall of foam flung up by the Seal’s sharp prow as she raced over the waters of the Polar Sea.
A vessel to be proud of was she, and none were more thankful than her inventor for her marvellous escape.
At length he turned towards the stairhead.
“I think I’ll go down and prepare a bit of grub,” he said. “I dare say you fellows can manage a feed?”
“Rather,” Seymour returned, and at the word Garth left the turret.
Some moments later Haverly noticed a decided increase in the speed of the vessel.
“Say!” he growled down the tube, “what speed have you got on?”
“Twenty-five,” came Wilson’s answer.
“I guess we’re doing more like fifty,” returned the Yankee. “Ease her off ten knots and stand by.”