The chauffeur had plunged out over Farnum’s head, alighting beyond the shipbuilder.  The chauffeur now lay writhing and groaning.

David Pollard landed first, on one wrist and his chest, a cry of anguish escaping him.

Eph Somers lay in the road motionless.  Jack and Hal fell against the padded side of the car.  Hal remained there during the next second, but young Benson turned a half-somersault, lightly, landing in the road just outside.

It was young Captain Jack who first got to his feet.  Dazed for a few moments, he rose slowly seeking for signs of injury.

“I—­I believe I’m not hurt,” he congratulated himself.  “Thank heaven for that, for there are others here who seem in need of the promptest help.”

First of all Jack turned to his chum, young Hastings.  But Hal, though his face was white from the shock of it all, smiled back, then helped himself out of the wrecked car.

Within the next few minutes it developed that Eph had been stunned.  Beyond this he had suffered no injury except a bruise along the left thigh.

Jacob Farnum proved to be only stunned and badly shaken.  But David Pollard displayed a helpless left wrist and complained of severe pain in the left side of his chest.

The chauffeur had a broken left leg, a broken arm, and a mass of bruises on his face, where he had struck the hard earth.

“Great Scott, but this is almost like the carnage of war!” muttered Jack Benson.  “Hal, you and Eph help Mr. Farnum with the others.  I’m going down the road to the first house, and send for aid.”

Arrived at a farm-house that proved to be connected with the telephone service, Jack ’phoned for the two nearest doctors, and for men to come and help the injured.  Then he called up the garage from which the auto had been hired; this address being supplied by the chauffeur.

Then, accompanied by the man of the house, young Benson hurried back to the scene of the wreck.  The submarine captain found that he had at least been so bruised and shaken up that speed on his feet hurt.

The first to arrive, of those summoned, was the owner of the garage in Colfax.  He came in a large car, burning gasoline fast.

“I’m Graves, from the garage,” he introduced himself, shutting off power and leaping out.  “Jove, what a smash this is!”

Until two doctors and several men arrived Graves devoted himself to helping make the injured victims as comfortable as possible.

When the doctors and helpers appeared on the scene Graves soon called Jack Benson aside.

“There’s something about this affair that must be investigated,” declared the garage man, in an undertone.  “The cars that I keep are all of one make, and there are no stauncher, safer cars made in the world.  No such accident has ever before happened to one of my cars.  Come; let’s see what we can find out.”

Graves didn’t have to look far.  He halted at the broken axle, staring at it hard.  Then he looked over the broken casting from all sides.