“They’ve discovered something that pleases them mightily,” thought Don, sick with rage.  “What can it be?  I’m going to know, if money has still any power to buy other men’s services.”

“Jack Benson may be very happy now,” muttered Don, vindictively, “but his joy shall soon be turned to ashes—­or worse.”

Nor was Don Melville speaking by mere guesswork.  His ignoble nature had evolved the whole plan by which Jack was to be ruined.  Don even stooped to use his father as an innocent tool in a series of rascally deceptions.

“I got word that you wanted to see me at once,” said Broughton Emerson, dropping in upon Mr. Melville that afternoon at the hotel.

“I certainly do,” returned Mr. Melville, leading the way to an inner room.  “Emerson, you remember my telling you that Farnum’s crew are wholly willing to sell out their people if the price is big enough?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Would you like to see that proved?”

“By all means, if it can be,” replied Mr. Emerson, a look of keen anxiety in his eyes, for he had finally determined to use his own judgment and invest heavily in the Farnum submarine enterprise.

“Will you consent to doing a little watching with me?” asked Mr. Melville.

“What’s in the wind?”

“To-night, at eleven o’clock, on a lonely bit of road well out of town,” replied George Melville, “young Captain John Benson has agreed to meet my son, Don.”

“For what purpose?”

“Pollard has recently perfected a submarine boat device of the greatest practical value.  Young Benson has promised Don to steal the drawings and descriptions pertaining to that device, and to turn them over to Don, for a price, of course!”

“It’s horrible—­unspeakable!” gasped Mr. Emerson, indignantly.

“Of course.  But I want you to understand the kind of crowd that surrounds Farnum.  It will be a guide to you in investing with those people.  If you go with me, to the appointed place, ahead of time, and we hide close enough to witness the whole transaction, then you’ll believe all that I’ve been telling you, won’t you?”

“Of course,” nodded Mr. Emerson, speaking thickly.  His whole soul revolted at the treachery of such a transaction, which made him add: 

“But won’t you and your son, Melville, be in as bad a light through profiting by such infernal treachery?”

“We would, if we did profit,” replied George Melville, flushing.  “However, as soon as Don has dismissed the young blackguard, Benson, my son will touch a lighted match to the papers and burn them all, with yourself looking on.  What do you say, Emerson?”

“It’s a mean kind of business to take any part in,” protested Broughton Emerson, hoarsely.  “But—­yes, I’ll go, for if such things can be done it is my duty to myself to know.”

Plans were thereupon made for the meeting in the evening.  Broughton Emerson, honorable and broad-minded went away from that meeting heavy of heart.  He hated the whole business, and yet he admitted to himself that he must know the truth ere he invested a fortune in other folks’ business game.  Yet, weighed down by the sickening feeling that, at best, he was about to play the spy, Mr. Emerson presently called up Jacob Farnum on the telephone.