It began to look, however, as if the “Thor’s” engines were not quite as fast as those of the other Rhinds boat, the “Zelda.”

“Are we going to make it?” breathed Eph, the perspiration of sheer strain standing out on his forehead.

“Yes!” almost barked Jack Benson.

“Sure thing, is it?” persisted Somers.

“Sure—­only don’t talk too much,” growled young Benson.

It was the grit, the dogged determination of the born commander—­the natural leader of men.

A moment later Jack turned a white face toward the shipbuilder.

“Mr. Farnum, tell Hal he’ll have to pour the oil in faster.  We’ve got to have more speed.”

Farnum did not even wait for the second sentence.  He dived below.  All of a sudden the “Hastings” was seen to take a notable leap forward.  Then she settled down to a more rapid, steady gait.

Just inside the conning tower Jacob Farnum stood again.  In his right hand he clutched a doubled-up handkerchief, with which he made frequent dabs at his face.

The shipbuilder knew that the present speed, with its dangerous overheating of the engines, spelled blank disaster if continued for long.

Hal Hastings, down below, standing like a white wraith beside his engines, realized the same thing.

So, too, did Jack Benson, the young skipper, for whom, in this mad moment, there was but one word in the language—­“win!”

Eph didn’t stop to realize it.  He was worrying about straight steering, and he couldn’t worry about more than one thing at a time.

Lieutenant Danvers must have known what was patent to every other mind but he neither said nor did anything.  He was a Navy officer, trained not to display emotion.

“Good!” came from Captain Jack’s lips.  Yet, in the intensity of his strain it was a groan, rather than a note of exultation.  “We’re cutting into the ‘Thor’s’ water.”

A few moments more, and Benson found his craft slantingly across the Rhinds boat’s course, well ahead.

“Now, we’ll show you!” quavered Jack Benson, as he briefly shook his fist back at the wicked rivals.

“If we don’t blow the lid off this sea-turtle!” muttered young Somers, to himself.

At the youthful captain’s sharp order Eph swung the course around.

“Now, drive straight toward the derelict, Eph!” breathed the young commander, his eyes glittering.  “I leave the deck in your hands for a minute.  You’re broadside on, now.  Keep driving, steady, as you are!”

As Farnum saw young Benson dashing his way the shipbuilder understood and darted down the stairs.

After him plunged Jack Benson.  Below, both became cooler, for the task in hand must not be bungled.  On one of the trucks they dragged a torpedo forward, fitting it in the tube.

As he closed the after port behind the torpedo, Jack bent over to place Jacob Farnum’s hand on the firing lever.