The Case of the Flying Submarine
Adapted from THE SUBMARINE THAT SANK UPWARDS! by Anon. Amalgamated Press, 1926.
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The PXR1
The long, grey car swung out of Whitehall into the Admiralty yard. Out of it jumped the loose-limbed, broad-shouldered man whose name was famous throughout Europe as that of the most deadly man-hunter now living — Sexton Blake, detective.
Together with the youngster who had got out of the car with him — Tinker, Blake's assistant — the detective strode in through the high doorway. Five minutes later he and the youngster were in the private room of Sir Walter Thackery, one of the biggest men in British naval circles.
"I'm glad you've come. There's a queer business to be tackled. We're worried — don't know what we're up against."
In brief, jerky sentences, Sir Thackery talked while he stabbed with a pen at the pink blotting-paper on his desk.
"Want you to do a Government job, Mr Blake. May be risky, though, I warn you."
Sexton Blake gave a grim smile.
"I expect risks in my profession," he said.
For a moment the naval man smiled, too. Then his face went grave again. Clearly, he was strangely anxious.
"Good! But before I ask if you'll take it on I'd better explain a bit, eh? Have a cigarette?"
Blake declined the proffered cigarette. He always smoked a pipe when considering the various aspects of a new case. It helped to focus his mind. He took his curved briar from his pocket now and proceeded to fill it. Sir Walter Thackery, with a worried frown on his face, lit a cigarette.
"It's a naval secret at present," he said. "Strictly a secret. We're experimenting with a new type of submarine. We've built one on a small scale. If it's all right, we shall build more — the full size, though this first one is built for full service in every way at sea. At present she is down at Selport, on the outskirts of Portsmouth, in the Government dockyard there. The PXR1, Mr Blake. A very fine boat she is, too, though, of course practically a miniature one. Carries a picked crew." A gleam of enthusiasm, came into his eyes. "Very fine! The very latest thing. Other countries would give their ears to know all about it."
Blake nodded silently.
"I understand."
"Well, one country — we don't even know which — has found out something," continued Sir Thackery. "Something! We don't know how much. But we do know that there is going to be some attempt made upon the PXR1. That's certain!"
"To destroy it?" asked Blake. "Or to get the plans?"
The naval man leant back in his chair.
"We don't know," he said abruptly. "We know nothing beyond the bare fact that some sort of attempt is going to be made to do Britain down with regard to the PXR1. What form it will take — whether, as you suggest, it will be an attempt simply to blow her up to delay us, or in the hope that we can't build a similar one, or whether it will be the more useful scheme of collaring her outright as a model, I can't tell you, because no one knows — except the beggars responsible."
"That makes things a bit difficult," murmured Blake thoughtfully.
"It does," agreed the other, the worried frown back on his face. "Thundering difficult! But what we propose is this — that you are on board the PXR1 when she takes her trial trip out of Selport and down the Channel. We want an expert detective on board to watch for any eventualities. We want, too, a private man — a man who hasn't got fear of the Government hanging over him, with all its red tape, and so has a free hand."
Sir Walter Thackery leaned across his desk. "Will you?" he asked. "Will you take this thing on?"
Blake nodded.
"Certainly. I and my assistant here will be on board this submarine when she goes on her trial trip. When will the PXR1 be leaving Selport?"
"On the sixteenth — two days' time. This is an important business — we'll send someone down to the dockyard with you to make everything smooth for you." He rose and held out his hand. "Good luck!"
* * *
A cold wind, with rain in it, was cutting through the Government dockyard at Selport as four hunched figures went stumbling across a rusty railway-line close by the water.
"Go carefully, Mr Blake!" warned one of the figures, who was smoking a stump of cigar between tight-clenched teeth.
It was the captain of the PXR1 who had spoken.
Blake and Tinker had been dining ashore in Selport with the captain and one of the other officers. Now they were returning to the mystery-submarine. At six in the morning the PXR1 would slip from her moorings and creep out down-Channel for her tests.
As they made their way on, Tinker kept glancing around curiously. In the dim, flickering lamps the great sheds and the slippery wharves seemed strangely dreary and desolate. But Tinker was wondering what crouching figures might not be hiding in those inky shadows?
It would be a big thing for a foreign power to find out fully about the new type of British submarine — a wonder-submarine, the captain had called it enthusiastically to Blake. Small, but neat and powerful, capable of immense speed, and mounting very deadly guns of a new type specially designed for submarine work, the PXR1 type would be a new force in naval warfare, without a doubt.
And it was known that some foreign power had indeed learnt of the existence of this first model PXR1. It was known that an attempt of some kind was to be made to wrest the secrets of the new submarine from Britain! Thus, Tinker was thinking.
"There's one thing," Tinker told himself, "there'd not be much point in blowing her up. What's been built once could be built again. So I don't think we're likely to go to the bottom of the sea with her, anyway."
Which thought was rather a relief!
A sudden challenge rang out of the darkness. A marine, with a fixed bayonet, stepped forward sharply into the yellow light of a wall lamp.
"Halt! Who goes there?"
"Friend!" answered the captain of the PXR1, taking his cigar from his mouth.
"Advance, friend, to be recognised!"
They went forward again.
And so they passed through the ring of sentries, and came to the wharf where the most modern submarine in the world was moored. On to the steel deck, and down into the narrow, electric-lit interior.
Tinker drew a deep breath. For the moment he had almost forgotten the grim reason for their presence on board.
"Crumbs, guv'nor!" he whispered excitedly. "Think of it — to-morrow we shall be off in her, out in the Channel, buzzing along fathoms deep! My hat! I'm looking forward to it!"
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