Rick Brant 3 Sea Gold

by John Blaine

  “No,” Tom returned. “While you were playing with all this lovely equipment, I was working hard arranging for buyers for our products. That’s what I call real work.”

  “It’s the kind of work I’d like to get.” Scotty grinned. “While you were eating at the best hotels and seeing the sights ofNew York andPhiladelphia , we were up to our ears digging ditches, connecting pipes, building platforms, and sweating over hot soldering irons. I’ll trade any time.”

  Doug joined Hartson Brant at the big control panel, and Rick followed, leaving Tom and Scotty exchanging friendly insults by the tanks.

  “This is where the equations come in,” Doug said. He produced a notebook full of typed computations.

  “There’s a control panel for each of those small tanks. I choose the equation corresponding to each metal that we want and set it up on the panels. Six tanks, six equations. We’ll choose magnesium, aluminum, copper, zinc, silver, and gold.”

  While Rick and his father watched, Doug turned dials and threw switches, setting up the equations on the board. Finally he turned to the scientist. He was smiling, but Rick saw that he was nervous. This first full-scale operation meant a lot to Doug.

  “Will you throw the electrode switches, sir?” he invited.

  “Thank you, Douglas,” Hartson Brant returned. “I’d be honored.”

  The scientist walked to a separate panel where six numbered, knife-type switches corresponded to each of the tanks. One by one he threw them.

  “Something’s happening,” Scotty called.

  The four men outside the door came running. Mrs. Brant and Barby left the colorful tube banks and joined the group at the tanks. Soon eleven heads were bent over the tanks, crowding for a look.

  Rick watched carefully. Bubbles were rising from one electrode in each tank, but that was only simple electrolysis as the current broke the liquid down into hydrogen and oxygen. The minerals would show at the other electrodes.

  It was the No. 3 tank that showed results first. It was hard to tell through the green liquid, but the electrode seemed thicker.

  “Number 3 off,” Doug called hoarsely.

  Rick jumped to the switch.

  Page 101

  The young engineer lifted the electrode out, held it over a glass dish, and scraped with a thin, wooden blade. Wet, powdery metal fell in a little silver shower to the waiting glass. Doug looked at the interested faces around him.

  “Pure aluminum,” he said simply.

  One by one the rest of the tanks built up their coatings of metals on the electrodes. Aluminum had come first, because there was a higher percentage of it in the residue liquid. Gold would come last, because there was less of it than the other metals.

  But at last Doug called, “Number 6 off!” As he lifted the electrode, wet, yellow powder gleamed in the light!

  Then they were all laughing and talking at once, and crowding around Doug with their congratulations.

  The flustered, happy, young engineer laughingly pulled free. “Now,” he said, “I propose that we eat!”

  An outdoor table had been set up next to the Quonset hut and the delicious sea food dinner that Cap’n Gait, as caterer, had prepared, was waiting.

  Much later, Rick pushed his chair back. He was filled to bursting with clam chowder and broiled lobster.

  A moment later, Scotty, the last one to finish, pushed his chair back, too, and beamed at the assembled company.

  Tom Blakely requested: “Now, Mike, how about that report you promised us after dinner?”

  “All right,” Mike agreed. He rose and addressed them. “Some of you know most of what I have to say.

  It has been in the papers. But I have something new to add, from a talk I had with the district attorney.

  He expects Wessel to be sentenced to twenty years for attempted murder. Then he’ll be tried on that old charge left over from theSpindriftIsland moon rocket. He’ll get about ten more for that. Tony probably will get twenty years, and Gunner ten. The Coast Guard found traces of the oyster poison on his boat, so that charge is waiting for Gunner, too. The poison was copper sulphate , by the way.”

  The private detective paused. “I’m sorry to announce that Brink will get only about five years in prison on the charge of harboring a criminal. However, the Department of Justice has taken an active interest.

  Their preliminary investigations into Brink’s foreign tie-ups indicate that they’ll find plenty more. It’s even possible, one of their agents informed me by phone today, that they’ll find enough evidence for a charge of treason. So I don’t think we need worry any more about friend Brink.” He looked at Rick. “And Jenkins had his phone disconnected because his health forced him out of business. So that teaches all young detectives not to jump to conclusions.”

  “I want to thank you all for coming,” Doug said quietly as Mike finished. “It’s an important day for Tom and me, and for Rick and Scotty, because we consider them partners, too. Tom and I are agreed that the boys should have a share in the plant, because without their help, we might never have brought our enemies to justice.”

  Rick and Scotty looked at each other, speechless. Then Rick jumped to his feet.

  “Golly, Doug, we can’t! I mean, we appreciate it, but we don’t want any rewards!”

  Page 102

  “I agree with Rick,” Hartson Brant stated. “Besides, if they accepted even a small share in your plant, it would obligate them, in a sense. They would feel that they had to keep their jobs for the rest of the summer.” He paused and looked at Rick, his eyes twinkling. “And we have other plans for them.”

  All thoughts of the sea mine plant vanished. Rick ran around to where his father was sitting, Scotty right behind him.

  “A new experiment, Dad?What is it? Is it at Spindrift or somewhere else?”

  “Not so fast.” His father laughed. “We’re not going to intrude on this celebration by talking about a new experiment. You’ll just have to wait until we get home. Zircon and Weiss are arriving tomorrow.”

  Later, it was with some reluctance that the boys re-signed their jobs at the plant, but already they were looking forward to a new adventure and speculating on what it might be.

  Then, a few days later, they walked with Hartson Brant into the big laboratory onSpindriftIsland and were greeted by Professor Zircon and Professor Weiss.

  Zircon was perspiring over what looked like a huge brass ball. He looked up as they entered and growled, “Well, it’s about time IOne more day of this loafing up inConnecticut and we’d have left you home!”

  But Rick and Scotty returned the big scientist’s greeting absently, because their eyes were on an object in the center of the lab.

  It was set in a steel cradle, and at first glance it looked like a dirigible, although much smaller. It had square, heavy quartz windows, and small propellers projected from the stern and from the sides. The nose was covered with strange devices.

  As they stared, openmouthed, a door in the side opened and Julius Weiss crawled out.

  “Don’t stand there with your faces open,” he snapped. “Get into lab smocks! We have a lot to do and only a short time to do it in.”

  Rick knew that the gruff greetings were the two scientists’way of letting the boys know that it was nice to have them back. He grinned and turned to his father.

  “Dad, please tell us! We’ll pop if you don’t.”

  “Like a couple of melons,” Scotty added. “I can feel my shirt buttons popping already.”

  “All right.”Hartson Brant laughed. “Professor Gordon is waiting for us inHawaii . He has chartered a suitable boat of some kind. I’ve also wired Chahda to come home and join us. He’ll be here tomorrow.

  Then we’ll all take a little trip.”

  “But where?”Rick pleaded.

  “And what’s that for?” Scotty asked.

  “The trip,” Hartson Brant said, “is to theislandof Kwangara in the Western Pacific. And that object into which Weiss just crawled like a hermit cra
b is the Submobile, his own adaptation of the bathysphere. We Page 103

  must complete work on it in two weeks, so it can be shipped toHawaii . Professor Gordon is working there with officials of theBishopMuseum , looking up all possible data on Alta-Yuan.”

  He smiled at the two eager faces before him.

  “Alta-Yuan,” he explained, “is a sunken temple. We’re going to explore it in an attempt to solve the mystery of the Pacific Polynesian migrations, a special assignment from the Pacific Ethnographic Society.”

  Rick turned his glance on the intriguing thing in the steel cradle.

  “But why do we need that to explore a temple?” “This temple,” Hartson Brant said, “is one hundred fathoms down-at the bottom of the seal”

  RICK BRANT continues his exciting adventures in the next volume, 100 FATHOMS UNDER. Don’t miss this thrilling story of a treasure hunt by Submobile in the depths of thePacific Ocean .

  Page 104