ddled in their filthy caves; the huge pterodactyls
soaring through the heavy air upon their bat-like wings; the mighty
dinosaurs moving their clumsy hulks beneath the dark shadows of
preglacial forests--the dragons which we considered myths until science
taught us that they were the true recollections of the first man,
handed down through countless ages by word of mouth from father to son
out of the unrecorded dawn of humanity."

"It is stupendous--if true," I replied. "And to think that possibly
they are still there--Tyler and Miss La Rue--surrounded by hideous
dangers, and that possibly Bradley still lives, and some of his party!
I can't help hoping all the time that Bowen and the girl have found the
others; the last Bowen knew of them, there were six left, all told--the
mate Bradley, the engineer Olson, and Wilson, Whitely, Brady and
Sinclair. There might be some hope for them if they could join forces;
but separated, I'm afraid they couldn't last long."

"If only they hadn't let the German prisoners capture the U-33! Bowen
should have had better judgment than to have trusted them at all. The
chances are von Schoenvorts succeeded in getting safely back to Kiel
and is strutting around with an Iron Cross this very minute. With a
large supply of oil from the wells they discovered in Caspak, with
plenty of water and ample provisions, there is no reason why they
couldn't have negotiated the submerged tunnel beneath the barrier
cliffs and made good their escape."

"I don't like 'em," said the assistant secretary; "but sometimes you
got to hand it to 'em."

"Yes," I growled, "and there's nothing I'd enjoy more than handing it
to them!" And then the telephone-bell rang.

The assistant secretary answered, and as I watched him, I saw his jaw
drop and his face go white. "My God!" he exclaimed as he hung up the
receiver as one in a trance. "It can't be!"

"What?" I asked.

"Mr. Tyler is dead," he answered in a dull voice. "He died at sea,
suddenly, yesterday."

The next ten days were occupied in burying Mr. Bowen J. Tyler, Sr., and
arranging plans for the succor of his son. Mr. Tom Billings, the late
Mr. Tyler's secretary, did it all. He is force, energy, initiative and
good judgment combined and personified. I never have beheld a more
dynamic young man. He handled lawyers, courts and executors as a
sculptor handles his modeling clay. He formed, fashioned and forced
them to his will. He had been a classma