While the two submarine boys were at breakfast a constable and a deputy appeared at the hotel, to get precise directions as to where to find the drugged Joshua Owen.  Then they departed in haste.

“There’s the band playing over at the yard!” cried Hal, seated at the hotel dining table.  “Great Scott!  We’ll be late.”

“I hardly see how that can happen,” replied Jack.  “It isn’t quite nine o’clock yet.”

Nevertheless, the martial strains caused both boys to hurry through their breakfast.  Then, full of eagerness, they all but ran down the short stretch of road to the yard.

“I wish we had a little better clothes,” muttered Hal, regretfully, as they neared the gate.

“What’s the odds?” replied young Benson.  “We’re workmen, anyway.”

“But most folks will be dressed up mighty well to-day,” objected Hal.  “Even Grant Andrews has his best suit on.”

“Well, we haven’t any other clothes,” murmured Jack, like a young philosopher.  “Folks won’t be looking at us, anyway.  They’ll all have their eyes on the boat.”

The watchman at the gate had been reinforced by another man, to hold the crowd back.  When the would-be spectators found that only work men and invited guests would be admitted to the yard the disappointed ones made a scurry for the nearest portions of the shore outside the big fence.

Inside, the noise of hammers had stopped.  The entire front of the submarine’s shed had been removed, and much of the underpinning structure that held the “Pollard” in place.  All that remained, to send the steel craft into the water, were the command and a few lusty sledgehammer strokes.

The band was playing again, a lively strain.  Jacob Farnum was bustling about, although, as far as could be seen, his only impulse was sheer excitement.

David Pollard, silent and more anxious than anyone could know, stood apart with Grant Andrews, while Eph Somers stood solitary at a little distance.

Even the coming of the boys caused Pollard a bit of relief.  They were to be of the crew at the launching, and their early arrival showed the inventor that there ought not, now, to be the faintest hitch.

“I thought there was going to be a naval officer here, Mr. Pollard,” whispered Jack.

“Looking for a uniform, eh?” laughed the inventor.  “There is a naval officer here—­Lieutenant Jackson.  There he is, over there, in the gray suit and straw bat.”

“Does he go on the boat with us?”

“Oh, no.  He’s simply to watch the launching, and see how the craft sits on the water after she goes in.  Some time in the near future there’ll be a board of naval officers here, when we’re ready to show them what the boat can do.”

With everything in readiness, the nerves of all the interested persons present began to suffer from the suspense.  Only the tireless band saved the day.

“Come along,” said Jacob Farnum, at last.  “It’s a quarter of ten.  We’ll get up in our places.”