fiant, and
believing that no one was aware of their existence, hit upon another
device--sending a false telegram to my father from Liverpool, and thus
taking him away from the house in order to be afforded a clear field for
their investigations. Of this I, of course, knew nothing until your
friends entered the house forcibly with the police and found me still
imprisoned--ah! yes! ready for death and burial."

And then the strange old Professor, stepping forward, seized my hand
warmly in his, saying:

"To you and your two good friends, Mr. Jacox, the country owes a great
and deep debt of gratitude. I was foolish in disregarding your timely
warning, for my dear daughter very nearly lost her life, because the
blackguards knew she had assisted me in my experiments and had made the
notes at my dictation, while Britain very nearly lost the secret upon
which, in the near future, will depend her supremacy at sea."

CHAPTER VII

THE SECRET OF THE IMPROVED "DREADNOUGHT"

The road was crooked and narrow, and the car was a nondescript "ninety,"
full of knocks and noise.

By appointment I had, for certain reasons that will afterwards be
apparent, met, in the American Bar of the "Savoy," two hours before, the
Honourable Robert Brackenbury, the dark, clean-shaven young man now
driving, and he had engaged me, at a salary of two pounds ten per week,
to be his chauffeur. I had driven him out through the London traffic,
until, satisfied with my skill, he had taken the wheel himself, and we
were now out upon the Great North Road, where he had a pressing
engagement to meet a friend.

Beyond Hatfield we passed through Ayot Green, and were on our way to
Welwyn, when suddenly he swung the powerful car into a narrow stony
by-road, where, after several sharp turns, he pulled up before a
pleasant, old-fashioned, red-roofed cottage standing back in a large
garden and covered with ivy and climbing roses.

A big, stout, clean-shaven, merry-faced man, with slightly curly fair
hair, standing in the rustic porch, waved his hand in welcome as we both
descended.

I was invited into the clean cottage parlour, and there introduced to
the stout man, who, I found, was named Charles Shand, and by whose
speech I instantly recognised an American.

"Good!" he exclaimed. "So this is the new chauffeur, eh?" he asked,
looking me up and down with his large blue eyes. "Say, young man," he
added, "you've got a good berth if you can drive well--and