The next morning found Tim in New York, actively engaged in plans for the trip into the Caribbean. While Ford completed negotiations for the purchase of the S-18, the government submarine which the navy was forced to scrap by treaty limitations, Tim called at the office of the New York Journal.

The managing editor was enthusiastic over the chance for exclusive stories on the expedition in return for relaying the radio stories on to the News. At his request, Tim sat down and wrote a two-column story on the plans for the treasure hunt. Ford had lifted restrictions on publicity for he realized that nothing said in print would deter Jack Sladek from his attempt to find the treasure first.

Tim met Ford at their hotel at noon and the leader of the expedition was jubilant.

“I’ve completed the purchase and the S-18 is being towed from the Brooklyn navy yard right now down to a yard where it will be fitted out for the trip.”

“What about a crew?” asked Tim.

“That’s not going to be as difficult as it seems. There are a lot of old navy men drifting around New York who are always itching for an adventure. A trip like this will appeal to them and I’ll be able to round up enough submarine experts to fill out the crew we need. I’m inserting an ad in the morning papers.”

“Isn’t there a chance Sladek may try and ring in a few of his men in your crew?”

“I’ll have to guard against that,” admitted Ford, “but it’s a chance I’ll have to take.” After lunch they departed for Brooklyn and the Laidlaw private shipyard where the S-18 was to be outfitted for the cruise.

It was Tim’s first glimpse of a real submarine and he stood for several minutes gazing at the smooth, glistening grey hull in the water beside the dock.

The S-18 had been started in 1920 and completed two years later. The sub was 240 feet long and ahead of the conning tower was the turret which housed the four-inch gun. The craft was a picture of sinister power and Tim felt just a little shivery as he stepped down the gangway which led from the dock onto the narrow deck.

“What do you think of it?” asked Ford.

“I’d a whole lot rather make the trip in an airplane,” admitted Tim, “but I guess I’ll get used to it.”

They climbed through the main hatch and descended into the control room. A mass of gauges and polished brass wheels greeted Tim’s eyes. The rounded hull was painted a flat white and the air was a trifle stuffy. It was all a Chinese puzzle to him.

Ford, talking rapidly, pointed to depth gauge, periscope controls, ballast tank valves and a score of other devices that had little meaning for Tim.

“This is the heart of the submarine,” explained Ford. “From this point every movement and action is directed.”

Somewhere aft was a steady clanging and they made their way toward it, ducking their heads under the low doors which separated the various compartments.

Directly back of the control room were the huge Diesel engines which propelled the S-18 when it was running on the surface. Bank after bank of cylinders were ranged on each side of the steel runway. Each engine was capable of generating 900 horsepower and the two of them could force the submarine along at fourteen knots an hour on the surface.

Behind the engine room were the electric motors which propelled the craft when it was submerged. There were two of these, developing between them 1,500 horsepower. The underwater speed of the S-18 was rated at eleven knots an hour. In this room was located the master switchboard for the complicated electrical devices on which the life of the submarine depended so much of the time when it was underwater.

They continued their tour of inspection, drawing nearer the sound of the steady hammering. In the next compartment they discovered the cause of the noise. A red-haired youth a little older than Tim was banging away industriously with a hammer at the bent end of a bunk which he had lowered from its place on the wall.

“What’s the matter, Pat?” asked Ford.

The red-haired young man looked up quickly.

“Hello, Mr. Ford. I’ve picked out my bunk and I’m doing what I can to get the dents out of this end.”

“I’m glad it’s nothing more serious. For a while I thought someone was trying to take my submarine apart.”

The young man with the hammer straightened up and looked Tim over with cool, impudent eyes.

“You two might as well get acquainted right now,” said Ford, “for you’re going to see a whole lot of each other in the coming weeks. Tim, I want you to know Pat Reynolds, who next to me will be in actual charge of the operation of the submarine. I consider Pat one of the finest submarine men in the world. He was with Sir Francis Habernicht on his submarine trip under the Arctic ice and it was due solely to Pat’s cool-headedness that they came through alive.”

Tim stuck out his hand and Pat grasped it firmly. There was an instant bond of liking between them.

Ford went on to explain Tim’s presence.

“If it hadn’t been for Murphy I might not be here right now,” he said. “Tim and his flying companion kept Jack Sladek from getting me in the Cedar river valley. Tim’s going to be a mighty valuable member of the expedition for I’ve decided to take along a small seaplane and he’s to do the flying.”

“I didn’t know you were going to take a plane,” said Pat.

“Neither did I until this morning. Word came to me that Sladek is back in New York and is busy now outfitting a tramp steamer. He’s taking a plane and I don’t want to feel that he has any advantage which I can not overcome.”

“But where can we carry an airplane on a submarine?” asked Tim.

“We’ll have to have special rigging placed on the deck ahead of the gun turret. We’ll be running above water all of the way to the island and when we arrive we can unload the plane and after that keep it moored on the beach.”

“This expedition commences to look like a humdinger,” grinned Pat. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“There will be plenty of excitement if Sladek can do anything about it,” conceded Ford, “I’ve got a great many things to do in New York this afternoon. Pat, you finish the tour of the submarine with Murphy.”

The commander of the treasure hunting expedition departed and left Tim in the tail of the sub with Pat Reynolds.

“This is the last compartment,” explained Pat, pointing to the bunks which ranged along the walls. “We’ll be carrying a small crew so this is where we’ll be living for the next couple of months. There’s another compartment for crew’s quarters up ahead but we’ll probably use that to store diving apparatus and to pack it full of stores and other equipment we’ll be needing.”

Tim was looking at the rear bulkhead and Pat followed with his eyes.

“That’s the aft torpedo tube,” he said, pointing to the heavy steel breech through which the tube was loaded. “The torpedo rack is just to the right but I don’t imagine we’ll be carrying any torpedoes with us this trip.”

“I thought it was impossible to get them for private use.”

“It’s supposed to be, but Ford has ways of getting things he wants. He was one of the navy’s ace undersea commanders during the World War and the department hasn’t forgotten his fine work. There’s such a thing as loaning a torpedo for experimental work. Of course it is just possible that the torpedo might be lost during the experiments.” Pat grinned broadly.

“Is that the same reason this sub has been left so completely equipped, even to the four-inch gun?”

Pat nodded.

“That’s one of them. Another is an unhealthy dislike of Uncle Sam for our friend Sladek. Federal officers have been after him for months but so far they haven’t been able to get anything on him that would warrant a trial. None of them would be sorry if Sladek just didn’t return from the Caribbean.”