Pat started forward and Tim followed him through the motor room, the engine room back into the control room, and then into the forward compartments.

Just ahead of the control room was a small cubby with a maze of electrical devices.

“You might call this the eyes and ears of the sub,” said Pat. “Here are the listening devices by which we can ascertain how far away a ship is, and the radio equipment. This is a special compartment built for just this type of submarine.”

“Don’t the newer ones have it?” asked Tim.

“Yes. Even more elaborate than ours and the equipment in them is located in the main control room.”

Ahead of the radio room was a white-walled compartment which had been stripped of its former equipment.

“This used to be crew’s quarters, but when Ford got an option on the S-18, the bunks and lockers were taken out. Our diving equipment and stores will be kept here.”

They went on, ducking their heads to enter the forward torpedo room. In the bulkhead Tim saw the breeches of four powerful tubes. The cranes which lifted the torpedoes from the racks and into the tubes were folded back against the wall but the front end of the compartment was a maze of gauges and valve wheels.

“I don’t see how you can remember which valve is which and what all of the gauges mean,” said Tim.

“It does take a couple of months to get the hang of all of them,” admitted Pat, “but in a fully manned navy submarine each man is trained for his own task. The successful operation depends upon each one doing his job at just the right time. If someone forgets, then the story makes the front page and the navy goes hunting for another lost submarine.”

Tim felt an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew the S-18 was going to be undermanned, but then the only diving they intended to do would be at the actual scene of the salvage operations.

“This torpedo compartment will be made into a diving room,” went on Pat. “A special bulkhead will be built to reinforce the regular one and a door cut in the side of the hull through which the diver can walk when we settle down on the bottom beside the Southern Queen. If we find the treasure it can be placed directly in this special room, the diver can climb in after, and up we’ll go.”

The description sounded simple enough but Tim had misgivings that the actual operation might be a little more complicated.

They left the forward torpedo room and started back to the control room. In the former crew’s quarters, Pat tapped the steel deck.

“The storage batteries which operate the electric motors are under here. It’s just too bad for us if water gets to them while we’re down in the bottom. Then there’s chlorine gas and unless we get up in a hurry, the party’s over.”

“You’re certainly painting a cheerful picture of this trip,” said Tim.

“I’m making it just as bad as I can,” grinned Pat, “but you don’t seem to scare much.”

“It’s a good thing you can’t see how fast my pulse is running. Just one more thing I want to know right now. Where do we eat aboard this tin fish?”

“A newspaper reporter would think of that,” chuckled Pat, “As a matter of fact the galley will be installed in the rear torpedo room. The entire crew will eat and sleep there and rations won’t be anything fancy.”

A watchman at the shipyard boarded the S-18 and informed Tim that Mr. Ford wanted to talk to him by telephone.

Tim hastened out of the submarine and followed the watchman to his shanty near the main gate of the big yard.

“I’m at the office of the Sea King Airplane Company on Lower Broadway,” said Ford. “Come over as soon as possible and we’ll make the final decision on the type of plane we’re going to take with us.”

Tim promised to get across the river as rapidly as possible and ran back to the S-18. Shouting down the main hatch, he informed Pat that he was leaving. Then he hastened outside, flagged a cruising taxi, and sped toward the office of the airplane company.

The head of the expedition was waiting for him in the main show room, where several seaplanes were on display. He introduced Tim to the company’s sales manager and they plunged into a discussion of detail.

“What do you think of this type of plane?” Ford asked Tim, pointing to the nearest one on the floor.

“It looks sturdy enough to me,” replied the flying reporter. “What about the speed?”

“It will cruise comfortably at 130 and can be pushed up to around 145,” replied the sales manager. “The wings are hinged and can be folded back along the fuselage.”

“Which will mean a saving of space, an important factor with us,” put in Ford. “Can you give us an actual demonstration?”

“It’s a little late to reach the plant out on Long Island in time for trial flights this afternoon. Couldn’t we arrange it tomorrow morning?”

Ford agreed and they arranged to meet at the office again at nine the next day.

“We’ll take that type if it proves up to expectations after Murphy has made several test trips,” he said.

“I’ve a great many things remaining on my list to do for today,” said Ford as they left the office, “and I’m a little hesitant about leaving Pat alone on the S-18 all night. Of course the Laidlaw yard has plenty of watchmen but you never can tell what Sladek may attempt. I’d feel a little better if you would take your duffle and go across the river and spend the night with Pat.”

“I might just as well get used to sleeping on the S-18 now as later,” said Tim. “I’ll get my things and be over at the yard in less than an hour.”

The flying reporter checked out of the hotel where they had registered that morning and stopped at an army goods store where he purchased three blankets and two kits of utensils. Then he taxied over to Brooklyn, stopped at a food store to lay in a supply of cold meat, bread, butter, potato chips, a sack of fruit and some small chocolate cakes. His arms were filled when he finally reached the gate of the shipyard and was admitted.

“You’re just in time. I was getting ready to close the gate for the night,” the watchman informed him. “Mr. Ford has given strict orders about admitting anyone after six o’clock.”

“Two of us are to stay aboard the S-18 tonight to see that nothing happens,” said Tim.

“There’ll be no one getting through this gate,” said the watchman firmly, but he was an elderly man and Tim surmised that he might enjoy an occasional nap in the darker hours of the night.

Shouting for Pat to come on deck, Tim threw down the packages of food, the blankets and then his own traveling bag, finally scrambling down the ladder himself.

“You look like a land crab when it comes to getting down a ladder gracefully,” chuckled the red-haired Pat. “Of course, there’s just a chance you may learn while you’re on this trip.”

“You may have the laugh on me when it comes to getting around in a submarine, but wait until I get you into the air. Believe me I’ll show you a trick or two in an airplane.”

“Which is just what you won’t do,” countered Pat. “I know when I’m well enough off and the S-18 suits me. No wings, thank you.”

With dusk softening the hard outlines of the shipyard, Tim descended into the interior of the S-18, where the bright glow of the electrics dispelled the gloom.

“Ford send you back to keep me company or is he afraid we may have visitors?” asked Pat as they placed Tim’s duffle in the crew’s quarters.

“Both. He isn’t going to take any chances on accidents if it can be avoided. The watchman at the main gate told me that strict orders had been issued to admit no one after six o’clock.” Pat nodded toward the river. “They’ll come from there if they come. Have you got a gun?” Tim pulled a sturdy .38 revolver from his traveling bag.

Pat whistled. “That’s a real popgun. How about a permit to carry it? You don’t want to run into trouble in New York.”

From his billfold Tim produced the small card which identified him as a member of the state police of his own state.

“Say, what are you,” asked Pat incredulously, “A reporter or a policeman?”

“I’m a reporter first of all, but once or twice I’ve had to serve as a policeman,” grinned Tim.

“Well, officer, let’s have that grub,” said Pat, opening the packages Tim had brought.

They lowered another bunk and spread the food out on it.

“Gosh, but this tastes good,” Pat said. “I forgot all about getting anything this noon.”

They were both the possessors of hearty appetites and between them they cleaned up every bit of food Tim had brought aboard.

Pat leaned back against the steel wall.

“Anyone could come aboard now and steal the S-18. I’m so full of food I wouldn’t be able to move.”

“I feel about the same way,” conceded Tim.

But despite their sluggishness no disaster befell the S-18 and after a time they bestirred themselves to make a final tour of inspection of the submarine.

Across the East river gleamed the millions of lights of Manhattan, and Tim, fascinated, stared at the majestic scene. A tramp steamer, outward bound for some distant port, hooted dismally as it swung down stream. Lights in the boatyard itself were few and far between and there was a distinct feeling of isolation to the flying reporter on the deck of the S-18.

While Tim was on deck, Pat closed all of the doors between the forward compartments, then joined Tim in front of the conning tower.

“I’m not looking for any trouble,” he said, “but I’ve made everything tight. The only possible entrance will be through the main hatch and I’m going to fix up a bunk and sleep in the control room.”

They went below and rigged makeshift beds on the steel floor below the conning tower. Pat found a trouble light with a long extension cord and he placed this on the deck outside the main hatch. With the lights off in the control room, it would be impossible for anyone to get down the hatch without being silhouetted in the glow of the electric on the deck.

“I guess we can go to sleep without much worry now,” said Pat, kicking off his shoes and rolling into his blankets.

“Good night,” said Tim, pulling his own blankets around him. The steel deck was anything but comfortable but after the flight from Atkinson and the busy day in New York, Tim soon dropped into a heavy sleep.

It was sometime after midnight when he awoke with a feeling of alarm gripping him. He looked toward the hatch above. The light was out. Someone was in the control room!