The correspondents were pressing about the worried builder and the uneasy
inventor.

"There's a tragedy going on over there, isn't there?" demanded another
journalist, pointing out across the water.

"I--I'm afraid there is a chance of it," nodded Mr. Farnum, dejectedly,
again looking at the watch in his hand. "It's getting on toward an hour
since the 'Pollard' went down."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Is there no way to rescue the crew?"

"Don't let those boys die, without lifting a finger to save them."

"Get busy, man--in heaven's name, get busy!"

Such were the comments, questions and advice that poured in on the
builder. David Pollard, his sensitive nature suffering extremely, shrank
back out of the crowd.

"Gentlemen--and ladies, too--don't you understand that nothing really
can be done--at least not in a rush?" cried Jacob Farnum, the cold sweat
standing out on his face. "There isn't a diver in or near Dunhaven, and
that unfortunate boat is down in seventy feet of water. I'm going to
rush a wire to the nearest place where I know a diver to be, but I--I am
certain that it will be hours before we can hope to have one here. That
is all--all that can possibly be done."