Chapter 1: An Empty Room

The house where the long trail started was one of gray walls, gray rooms and gray corridors, with carpets that muffled the feet which at intervals passed along them. It was a house of silence, brooding within the high fence that shut it and the grounds from a landscape torpid under the hot sun of summer, and across which occasionally drifted the lonely, mournful whistle of a train on a nearby railroad. Inside the house there was always a hush, a heavy quiet--restful to the brain.

But now a voice was raised, young, angry, impatient, in one of the gray-walled rooms.

“Yes, I rang for you. I want my bags packed. I’m leaving this minute!”

The face of the man who had entered showed surprise.

“Leaving, Mr. Torrance? Why?”

“Read this!”

[Illustration: She was fastened in the mud of the gloomy sea-floor.]

As if, knowing and therefore dreading what he would see, the attendant took the newspaper held outstretched to him and followed the pointing finger to a featured column. He scanned it:

Deadline Passed for Missing Submarine

Point Barrow, Aug. 17 (AP): Planes sent out to search for

the missing polar submarine Peary have returned without

clue to the mystery of is disappearance. The close search

that has been conducted through the last two weeks,

involving great risks to the pilots, has been fruitless, and

authorities now hold out small hope for Captain Sallorsen,

his crew and the several scientists who accompanied the

daring expedition.

If the Peary, as is generally thought, is trapped beneath

the ice floes or embedded in the deep silt of the polar

sea-floor, her margin of safety has passed the deadline, it

was pointed out to-day by her designers. Through special

rectifiers aboard, her store of air can be kept capable of

sustaining life for a theoretical period of thirty-one days.

And exactly thirty-one days have now elapsed since last the

Peary’s radio was heard from a position 72° 47’ N, 162°

22’ W, some twelve hundred miles from the North Pole itself.

In official circles, hope was practically abandoned for the

missing submarine, though attempts will continue to be made

to locate her...

“I’m sorry, Mr. Torrance,” said the attendant nervously. “This paper should--”

“Should never have reached me, eh? Through some slip of the people who censor my reading matter here, I read what I wasn’t supposed to--that’s what you mean?”

“It was thought better, Mr. Torrance, by the doctors, and--”

“Good God! Thought better! Through their sagacity, these doctors have probably condemned the men on this submarine to death! I haven’t heard a word about the expedition; didn’t even know the Peary was up there, much less missing!”

“Well, Mr. Torrance,” the attendant stammered, more and more unsettled, “the doctors thought that--that any news about it would--well, upset you.”

The young man laughed bitterly;

“Bring on my old ‘trouble, ‘ I suppose. The doctors have been considerate, but I won’t concern them any more. I’m through. I’m leaving for the north--right now. There’s a bare chance I might still be in time.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Torrance, but you can’t.”

“Can’t?”

The attendant had retreated to the door. His eyes were nervous, his face pale.

“It’s orders, Mr. Torrance. You’ve been under observation treatment, and the doctors left strict orders that you must stay.”

The young man throbbed with dangerous anger. His hands clenched and unclenched. He burst out, in a last attempt at reason:

“But don’t you see, I’ve got to get to the Peary! It’s the last hope for those men! The position she was last heard from is right where I--”