t has died in twenty years."

The boat gong sounded the signal of departure.

Summers, with a hasty apology, left Pauline and stepped forward. The
engines began to rumble. The deadly and delicate craft--masterpiece
of modern naval achievement--drew slowly from the pier.

There was a shout.

Summers, delivering rapid orders on deck, turned with an expression of
annoyance to see his faithful man servant, Catin, out of breath and
excited, rushing toward the boat.

Summers ordered the vessel stopped. It had moved not more than
stepping distance from the pier and in a moment Catin was beside his
master on the deck.

"She told me it must--" he paused, gasping for breath.

"Who told you what?" demanded Summers.

"Mlle. de Longeon. I am sure it is a message of importance. She told
me I must give it to you before you risked your life on the voyage."

"Mlle. de Longeon!" He caught the letter from Catin's hand.

"My Hero--I cannot keep the secret any longer, cannot wait to tell
you that it is you I love. Estelle de Longeon."

Summers walked slowly, dizzily up the deck was in an ecstasy. He was
oblivious to all the world--even to Pauline, who stood questioning an
officer at the rail. The fact that his servant, Catin, slipped
silently down the hatchway to the main compartment, and thence on to
the pump room at the vessel's bottom, would hardly have interested him
---even if he had known it.

"Shall we put off, sir?"

The second officer saluted.

The Ensign came to himself instantly. "Yes, of course. I put back
only for an important message," he said. "My man got off, did he?"

"I think so."

"All right. Go ahead."

Catin, with that rare fortune which sometimes favors the wicked, had
chosen precisely the right moment for his ruse. The crew of the
submarine were all on deck save those in the engine room, and his quick
passage to the vitals of the vessel was unseen.

Once in the pump room, he hastily drew from under his coat the bomb
placed in his hands at the conference of diplomats, wound its
clock-work spring and laid it beside the pumps.

There was a strange look on the man's face as he did this--a look at
once proud and pitiful. Catin had not sense of treachery or shame.
The deed in itself did not lack the dignity of courage, for, with the
others, he was planned his own death. And while the others were to die
suddenly, ignorant of their peril, Catin was to die in deliberate
knowledge of it.