In a twinkling, almost, the "Pollard" was riding the waves.
"There's Eph, dancing up and down on the beach," reported Captain Jack, from the conning tower.
"It worked like a charm," chuckled Eph Somers, gleefully, as soon as the others had joined him on shore. "That little charge of compressed air shot me out of the tube, and up I bounded to the surface, like a piece of cork."
"Now, we really lead the whole world in submarine boating," cried Mr. Farnum, hoarsely. "I don't care what any other inventor may have discovered, I'm satisfied that no one else can a boat as safe for the crew as the good little old 'Pollard' is!"
So happy did all of the five feel, in fact, that they shook hands gleefully, all around. Then, while Eph rowed out to the craft to dry himself and get into uniform, Jacob Farnum ran to the machine shops, there sounding several sharp, triumphant blasts on the steam whistle.
The whole affair—Eph's escape to the surface, the joy of the submarine, party and the blowing of the whistle, were all noted by a spy whom Don Melville had set to the task of watching the Farnum crowd.
Don was equally well aware that David Pollard had been working day and night in his room at Mr. Farnum's house.
"They've discovered something that pleases them mightily," thought Don, sick with rage. "What can it be? I'm going to know, if money has still any power to buy other men's services."
"Jack Benson may be very happy now," muttered Don, vindictively, "but his joy shall soon be turned to ashes—or worse."
Nor was Don Melville speaking by mere guesswork. His ignoble nature had evolved the whole plan by which Jack was to be ruined. Don even stooped to use his father as an innocent tool in a series of rascally deceptions.