LITMIR.BIZ

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nod. “Then here’s your scoop, Mr. Hunter. We leave to-night.”

      To-night! This was indeed a scoop! If he hurried, he could catch the late afternoon editions with it.

      “I – I certainly thank you, Miss Stevens!” he exclaimed. “That’ll make the front page!”

      As he grasped the door-knob, he added, turning to her father:

      “And I want to thank you too, Professor – and wish you good luck!”

      Then, with a hasty handshake, and a last smile of gratitude for Diane, he flung open the door and departed, unconscious that two young blue eyes followed his broad shoulders wistfully till they disappeared from view.

      But Larry was unaware that he had made a favorable impression on Diane. He felt it was the reverse. As he headed toward the subway, that vivid blond goddess of the chase was uppermost in his thoughts.

      Soon she’d be off in the Nereid, bound for the mysterious regions under the Sargasso Sea, while in a few moments he’d be in the subway, bound under the prosaic East River for New York.

      No – damned if he would!

      Suddenly, with a wild inspiration, the young reporter altered his course, dove into the nearest phone booth and got his city editor on the wire.

      Scoop? This was just the first installment. He’d get a scoop that would fill a book!

      And his city editor tacitly O. K.’d the idea.

      With the result that when the Nereid drew away from her wharf that night, on the start of her unparalleled voyage, Larry Hunter was a stowaway.

      The place where he had succeeded in secreting himself was a small storeroom far aft, on one of the lower decks. There he huddled in the darkness, while the slow hours wore away, hearing only the low hum of the craft’s vacuo-turbine and the flux of water running through her.

      From the way she rolled and pitched, he judged she was still proceeding along on the surface.

      Having eaten before he came aboard, he felt no hunger, but the close air and the dark quarters brought drowsiness. He slept.

      When he awoke it was still dark, of course, but a glance at his luminous wrist-watch told him it was morning now. And the fact that the rolling and pitching had ceased made him believe they were now running submerged.

      The urge for breakfast asserting itself, Larry drew a bar of chocolate from his pocket and munched on it. But this was scanty fare for a healthy young six-footer, accustomed to a liberal portion of ham and eggs. Furthermore, the lack of coffee made him realize that he was getting decidedly thirsty. The air, moreover, was getting pretty bad.

      “All in all, this hole wasn’t exactly intended for a bedroom!” he reflected with a wry smile.

      Taking a chance, he opened the door a crack and sat there impatiently, while the interminable minutes ticked off.

      The Nereid’s turbine was humming now with a high, vibrant note that indicated they must be knocking off the knots at a lively clip. He wondered how far out they were, and how far down.

      Lord, there’d be a riot when he showed up! He wanted to wait till they were far enough on their way so it would be too much trouble to turn around and put him ashore.

      But by noon his powers of endurance were exhausted. Flinging open the door, he stepped out into the corridor, followed it to a companionway and mounted the ladder to the deck above.

      There he was assailed by a familiar and welcome odor – food!

      Trailing it to its origin, he came to a pair of swinging doors at the end of a cork-paved passage. Beyond, he saw on peering through, was the mess-room, and there at the table, among a number of uniformed officers, sat Professor Stevens and Diane.

      A last moment Larry stood there, looking in on them. Then, drawing a deep breath, he pushed wide the swinging doors and entered with a cheery:

      “Good morning, folks! Hope I’m not too late for lunch!”

      Varying degrees of surprise greeted this dramatic appearance. The officers stared, Diane gasped, her father leaped to has feet with a cry.

      “That reporter! Why – why, what are you doing here, young man?”

      “Just representing the press.”

      Larry tried to make it sound nonchalant but he was finding it difficult to bear up under this barrage of disapproving eyes – particularly two very young, very blue ones.

      “So that is the way you reward us for giving you an exclusive story, is it?” Professor Stevens’ voice was scathing. “A representative of the press! A stowaway, rather – and as such you will be treated!”

      He turned to one of his officers.

      “Report to Captain Petersen that we have a stowaway aboard and order him to put about at once.”

      He turned to another.

      “See that Mr. Hunter is taken below and locked up. When we reach New York, he will be handed over to the police.”

      “But daddy!” protested Diane, as they rose to comply, her eyes softening now. “We shouldn’t be too severe with Mr. Hunter. After all, he is probably doing only what his paper ordered him to.”

      Gratefully Larry turned toward his defender. But he couldn’t let that pass.

      “No, I’m acting only on my own initiative,” he said. “No one told me to come.”

      For he couldn’t get his city editor involved, and after all it was his own idea.

      “You see!” declared Professor Stevens. “He admits it is his own doing. It is clear he has exceeded his authority, therefore, and deserves no sympathy.”

      “But can’t you let me stay, now that I’m here?” urged Larry. “I know something about boats. I’ll serve as a member of the crew – anything.”

      “Impossible. We have a full complement. You would be more of a hindrance than a help. Besides, I do not care to have the possible results of this expedition blared before the public.”

      “I’ll write nothing you do not approve.”

      “I have no time to edit your writings, young man. My own, will occupy me sufficiently. So it is useless. You are only wasting your breath – and mine.”

      He motioned for his officers to carry out his orders.

      But before they could move to do so, in strode a lean, middle-aged Norwegian Larry sensed must be Captain Petersen himself, and on his weathered face was an expression of such gravity that it was obvious to everyone something serious had happened.

      Ignoring Larry, after one brief look of inquiry that was answered by Professor Stevens, he reported swiftly what he had to say.

      While cruising full speed at forty fathoms, with kite-aerial out, their wireless operator had received a radio warning to turn back. Answering on its call-length, he had demanded to know the sender and the reason for the message, but the information had been declined, the warning merely being repeated.

      “Was it a land station or a ship at sea?” asked the professor.

      “Evidently the latter,” was the reply. “By our radio range-finder, we determined the position at approximately latitude 27, longitude 65.”

      “But that, Captain, is in the very area we are headed for.”

      “And that, Professor, makes it all the more singular.”

      “But – well, well! This is indeed peculiar! And I had been on the point of turning back with our impetuous young stowaway. What would you suggest, sir?”

      Captain Petersen meditated, while Larry held his breath.

      “To turn back,” he said at length, in his clear, precise English, “would in my opinion be to give the laugh to someone whose sense of humor is already too well developed.”

      “Exactly!” agreed Professor Stevens,

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