“Now just see how one can be mistaken in a man,” thought the inventor to himself. “I had quite a prejudice against that fellow, and yet it turns out that he may be able to do me a good turn, after all. I’d give a lot to get my hands on Gradbarr, for, since I have been thinking it over, it seems to me that there was more behind that gas explosion than appeared on the surface. And then coupling his attempt to destroy the Lockyer with the previous attempt, it looks very much as if he were the agent for somebody else. Somebody powerful and wealthy, who wishes to harm me—those Atlas people, like as not, though I hate to suspect anybody of such dirty work. If he can be arrested, we may solve the mystery and at the same time put a rascal where he belongs.”
At this point of his meditations, the inventor was besieged by requests for an interview. But he was firm on that point.
“Write all you like about what you have seen of the boat, gentlemen,” he said, “but please leave me out of it.”
“We can’t very well do that, Mr. Lockyer, since she is your creation,” said a reporter. “But we’ll let you down as easy as we can.”
“Thanks. The less said about me, the better,” was the reply.
Soon after, the reporters left, having warmly thanked the submarine party for their courtesies. Thanks to Lieutenant Parry and Midshipman Stark, they had obtained good stories, with just enough of a dash of mystery in them to make them all the better reading. As Mr. Armstrong went over the side, he took occasion to speak to Mr. Lockyer in a low voice.
“I must ask you to keep quiet about this,” he said. “It would get me in a lot of trouble with the paper if they knew I was spending my time in any one else’s interests. But I like you, and I don’t want to see such a rascal as Gradbarr get off scot free.”
The inventor could only thank this disinterested benefactor once more. That afternoon, while work was actively going on on board the submarine—for after her trial trip there was quite a lot of overhauling and setting to rights to be done—a boat from the shore came alongside. Ned was on deck at the time and answered the heavily-bearded oarsman’s hail.
“Note for Mr. Lockyer,” said the boatman, coming alongside and handing Ned a missive. “From the gent at the hotel,” he added, “and will you ask Mr. Lockyer what time I’m to come off for him?”
Ned hastened below and handed the note to the inventor. He took it and scanned the missive eagerly. It was from Armstrong, and read: