“It will leak out,” asserted Seymour, “despite his precautions. A thing of that sort cannot remain a secret long. The very secrecy will attract the attention of the curiously inclined.” “Exactly,” returned Mervyn, “that is what we are afraid of. Already, it seems, some hint of the matter has reached the Continent, in spite of Garth’s care. Two days ago I ran down to the Manor to look over the boat ere the final details were completed, and while there, Garth called my attention to a couple of suspicious-looking characters--foreigners, evidently--who, he said, had been hanging round the village for some days. Still, I think there is little to fear. The dock where the submarine floats is guarded night and day.” The scientist refolded the inventor’s letter, and replaced it, ere resuming the conversation. “Of course, what I have read to you is a very bald statement of the facts. When I went down I confess I was surprised at the singular beauty of the craft. She is built of steel throughout, and furnished in a most luxurious manner; in fact, she must have cost Garth a fortune.” “When do you start?” questioned Seymour. “Within three days,” was the answer, “if the trial trip proves satisfactory. You will come down for that, I suppose? Then there is the affair of the christening to be gone through--we have not yet decided on a name for the vessel.” “There will be room for a weapon or two, I suppose? I should feel lost without my guns.” “Bring a whole armoury if you like,” replied Mervyn, smiling, “though I doubt if you will find much scope for your sporting instincts in the icy realms of the north. There is a special chamber fitted up as an armoury aboard the vessel, and there are racks in the turret in which a few weapons will be kept in case of emergency. Oh, I forgot to tell you--Silas is coming.” “What!” cried Seymour, “Silas Haverly? That’s good. He’s always ready for any adventure that may turn up. Is he down at Hilton now?” “No,” returned the scientist; “he goes down to-morrow.” He pulled out his watch as he spoke. “By Jove!” he cried, “I’ve only twenty minutes to catch the express. Are you coming down with me?” “Yes,” returned the other. “I’ll just leave word for my traps to be sent on, and then I’m with you.” Three minutes later the two men passed out of the hotel entrance, and, entering a cab, were driven rapidly away into the night. CHAPTER I. AT THE MERCY OF CONSPIRATORS. SILAS K. HAVERLY, millionaire and explorer, settled himself comfortably back in the corner of a first-class smoker. He had ten minutes to wait ere the express--which was to bear him sixty miles across country to Stanwich, the nearest station to Garth Hilton’s place--was timed to start.