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FIBONACCI AND LUCAS
NUMBERS WITH
APPLICATIONS
PURE AND APPLIED MATHEMATICS
A Wiley Series of Texts, Monographs, and Tracts
Founded by RICHARD COURANT
Editors Emeriti: MYRON B. ALLEN III, PETER HILTON, HARRY
HOCHSTADT, ERWIN KREYSZIG, PETER LAX, JOHN TOLAND
A complete list of the titles in this series appears at the end of this volume.
FIBONACCI AND LUCAS
NUMBERS WITH
APPLICATIONS
Volume Two
THOMAS KOSHY
Framingham State University
This edition first published 2019
© 2019 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or
otherwise, except as permitted by law. Advice on how to obtain permission to reuse material from
this title is available at http://www.wiley.com/go/permissions.
The right of Thomas Koshy to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in
accordance with law.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Koshy, Thomas.
Title: Fibonacci and Lucas numbers with applications / Thomas Koshy,
Framingham State University.
Description: Second edition. | Hoboken, New Jersey : John Wiley & Sons, Inc.,
[2019]- | Series: Pure and applied mathematics: a Wiley series of texts,
monographs, and tracts | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016018243 | ISBN 9781118742082 (cloth : v. 2)
Subjects: LCSH: Fibonacci numbers. | Lucas numbers.
Classification: LCC QA246.5 .K67 2019 | DDC 512.7/2–dc23 LC record available at
https://lccn.loc.gov/2016018243
Cover image: © NDogan/Shutterstock
Cover design by Wiley
Set in 10/12pt, TimesNewRomanMTStd by SPi Global, Chennai, India
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Dedicated to
the loving memory of
Dr. Kolathu Mathew Alexander
(1930–2017)
CONTENTS
vii
viii Contents
Abbreviations 644
Bibliography 645
Solutions to Odd-Numbered Exercises 661
Index 725
LIST OF SYMBOLS
Symbol Meaning
⇐ or ⇒ marginal symbol for alerting the change in notation
? unsolved problem
end of a proof or solution; end of a lemma, theorem,
or corollary when it does not end in a proof
ℂ set of complex numbers
(a1 , a2 , … , an ) greatest common divisor (gcd) of the positive
integers a1 , a2 , … , an
[a1 , a2 , … , an ] least common multiple (lcm) of the positive
integers a1 , a2 , … , an
√
Δ x2 + 4
x+Δ
𝛼(x)
2
x−Δ
𝛽(x)
2
√
D x2 + 1
𝛾(x) x+D
𝛿(x) x−D
a(x) mod b(x) remainder when a(x) is divided by b(x)
a(x) ≡ b(x) (mod c(x)) a(x) is congruent to b(x) modulo c(x)
xiii
xiv List of Symbols
Symbol Meaning
[a0 ; a1 , … , an ] infinite simple continued fraction
𝑤(tile) weight of tile
𝜇(x) characteristic of the gibonacci family
Fn∗ Fn Fn−1 · · · F1 , where F0∗ = 1
[ ]
n Fn∗
fibonomial coefficient
r Fr∗ Fn−r
∗
{ }
n 1 − qm 1 − qm−1 1 − qm−r+1
q-binomial coefficient ⋅ · · ·
r 1−q 1 − q2 1 − qr
q
√
Δ(x, y) x2 + 4y
! switching variables
PREFACE
The main focus of Volume One was to showcase the beauty, applications, and
ubiquity of Fibonacci and Lucas numbers in many areas of human endeavor.
Although these numbers have been investigated for centuries, they continue to
charm both creative amateurs and mathematicians alike, and provide exciting
new tools for expanding the frontiers of mathematical study. In addition to being
great fun, they also stimulate our curiosity and sharpen mathematical skills such
as pattern recognition, conjecturing, proof techniques, and problem-solving. The
area is still so fertile that growth opportunities appear to be endless.
xv
xvi Preface
AUDIENCE
PREREQUISITES
ORGANIZATION
SALIENT FEATURES
HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE
As in Volume One, I have made every attempt to present the material in a his-
torical context, including the name and affiliation of every contributor, and the
year of the contribution; indirectly, this puts a human face behind each discov-
ery. I have also included photographs of some mathematicians who have made
significant contributions to this ever-growing field.
Again, my apologies to those contributors whose names or affiliations are
missing; I would be grateful to hear about any omissions.
The book features over 1,230 exercises of varying degrees of difficulty. I encour-
age students and Fibonacci enthusiasts to have fun with them; they may open
new avenues for further exploration. Abbreviated solutions to all odd-numbered
exercises are given at the end of the book.
APPENDIX
The Appendix contains four tables: the first 100 Fibonacci and Lucas num-
bers; the first 100 Pell and Pell–Lucas numbers; the first 100 Jacobsthal and
Jacobsthal–Lucas numbers; and a table of 100 tribonacci numbers. These
should be useful for hand computations.
xviii Preface
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A massive project such as this is not possible without constructive input from
a number of sources. I am grateful to all those who played a significant role in
enhancing the quality of the manuscript with their thoughts, suggestions, and
comments.
Finally, I would be grateful to hear from readers about any inadvertent errors
or typos, and especially delighted to hear from anyone who has discovered new
properties or applications.
Thomas Koshy
[email protected]
Framingham, Massachusetts
August, 2018
Fibonacci and Lucas Numbers with Applications, Volume Two. Thomas Koshy.
© 2019 John Wiley & Sons, Inc. Published 2019 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
1
2 Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials I
For the curious-minded, we add that 𝑓n is an even function when n is odd, and
an odd function when n is even; and ln is an odd function when n is odd, and even
when n is even.
k 0 1 2 Row Sums
n
1 1 1
2 1 1
3 1 1 2
4 1 2 3
5 1 3 1 5
6 1 4 3 8
7 1 5 6 1 13
8 1 6 10 4 21
↑ ↑
tn Fn
Table 31.1 contains some hidden treasures. To see them, we arrange the
nonzero coefficients of the Fibonacci polynomials in a left-justified array A;
see Table 31.2. Column 2 of the array consists of the triangular numbers
tn = n(n + 1)∕2, and the nth row sum is Fn .
Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials 5
Let an,k denote the element in row n and column ( k of the)array. Clearly,
n−k−1
an,k is the coefficient of xn−2k−1 in 𝑓n ; so an,k = . Recall that
( ) k
∑ n−k−1
= Fn [287].
k≥0
k
Consequently, it can be defined recursively:
a1,0 = 1 = a2,0
an,k = an−1,k + an−2,k−1 ,
where n ≥ 3 and k ≥ 1; see the arrows in Table 31.2. This can be confirmed; see
Exercise 31.1.
Let dn denote the nth rising diagonal sum. The sequence {dn } shows an inter-
esting pattern: 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4,
6 , 9, 13, …; see Figure 31.1. We can also define
dn recursively:
d1 = d2 = d3 = 1
dn = dn−1 + dn−3 ,
where n ≥ 4.
1
1
1 1
2
1 3
1 1 4
6
1 2
1 3 1
1 4 3
1 5 6 1
1 6 10 4
Figure 31.1.
( )
n−k−1
Since an,k = , it follows that
k
⌊(n−1)∕3⌋
∑
dn = an−k,k
k=0
⌊(n−1)∕3⌋ ( )
∑ n − 2k − 1
= .
k=0
k
6 Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials I
( ) ( ) ( ) ( )
∑
2
7 − 2k 7 5 3
For example, d8 = = + + = 9.
k=0 k 0 1 2
The falling diagonal sums also exhibit an interesting pattern: 1, 2, 4, 8, 16, …;
see Figure 31.2. This is so, since the nth such sum is given by
n−1 ( )
∑
n−1
∑ n−1
an+k,k =
k=0 k=0
k
= 2n−1 ,
where n ≥ 1.
1
1
1 1
1 2
1 3 1
1
1 4 3
2
1 5 6 1
4
1 6 10 4
8
Figure 31.2.
k 0 1 2 3 4 Row Sums
n
1 1 1
2 1 2 3
3 1 3 4
4 1 4 2 7
5 1 5 5 11
6 1 6 9 2 18
7 1 7 14 7 29
8 1 8 20 16 2 47
↑
Ln
Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials 7
Let bn,k denote the element in row n and column k, where n ≥ 1 and k ≥ 0.
Then
⌊n∕2⌋
∑
1) bn,k = Ln .
k=0
2) bn,k = bn−1,k + bn−2,k−1 , where b1,0 = 1 = b2,0 , b2,1 = 2, n ≥ 3, and k ≥ 0.
3) Let xn denote the nth rising diagonal sum. Then x1 = 1 = x2 , x3 = 3, and
xn = xn−1 + xn−3 , where n ≥ 4.
⌊(n−1)∕3⌋ ( )
∑ n − k n − 2k
4) xn = .
k=0
n − 2k k
( ) ( ) ( ) ( )
∑ 2
7 − k 7 − 2k 7 7 6 5 5 3
For example, x7 = = + + = 12.
k=0
7 − 2k k 7 0 5 1 3 2
In the interest of brevity, we omit their proofs; see Exercises 31.2–31.5.
Next we construct a graph-theoretic model for Fibonacci polynomials.
T1 T2 T3 T4 T5
Figure 31.3.
Binet-like Formulas
Using the recurrence gn = xgn−1 + gn−2 and the initial conditions, we can derive
explicit formulas for both 𝑓n and ln ; see Exercises 31.6 and 31.7:
𝛼n − 𝛽 n
𝑓n = and ln = 𝛼 n + 𝛽 n ,
𝛼−𝛽
x+Δ x−Δ
where 𝛼 = 𝛼(x) = and 𝛽 = 𝛽(x) = are the solutions of the equation
2 √ 2
t − xt − 1 = 0 and Δ = Δ(x) = x + 4. Notice that 𝛼 + 𝛽 = x, 𝛼 − 𝛽 = Δ, and
2 2
𝛼𝛽 = −1.
Since 𝛼 = 𝛼𝑓1 + 𝑓0 and 𝛼 2 = 𝛼x + 1, it follows by the principle of mathe-
matical induction (PMI) that 𝛼 n = 𝛼𝑓n + 𝑓n−1 , where n ≥ 1; see Exercise 31.8.
Similarly 𝛽 n = 𝛽𝑓n + 𝑓n−1 .
Using the Binet-like formulas, we can extend the definitions of Fibonacci and
Lucas polynomials to negative subscripts: 𝑓−n = (−1)n−1 𝑓n and l−n = (−1)n ln .
Using the Binet-like formulas, we can also extract a plethora of properties of
Fibonacci and Lucas polynomials; see Exercises 31.14–31.97. For example, it is
fairly easy to establish that
𝑓n ln = 𝑓2n ;
𝑓n+1 + 𝑓n−1 = ln ; (31.1)
x𝑓n−1 + ln−1 = 2𝑓n ; (31.2)
n
l2n + 2(−1) = ln2 ;
𝑓n+1 𝑓n−1 − 𝑓n2 = (−1)n ;
ln+1 ln−1 − ln2 = (−1)n−1 (x2 + 4).
The last two identities are Cassini-like formulas. It follows from the Cassini-like
formula for 𝑓n that every two consecutive Fibonacci polynomials are relatively
prime; that is, (𝑓n , 𝑓n−1 ) = 1, where (a, b) denotes the greatest common divisor
(gcd) of the polynomials a = a(x) and b = b(x).
Similarly,
(ln+4k + ln , ln+4k−1 + ln−1 ) = l2k ; (31.4)
Pythagorean Triples
The identities ln+1 + ln−1 = Δ2 𝑓n and l2n = Δ2 𝑓n2 + 2(−1)n (see Exercises 31.32
and 31.49) can be employed to construct Pythagorean triples (a, b, c). To see
this, let c = Δ2 𝑓2n+3 and a = xl2n+3 − 4(−1)n . We now find b such that (a, b, c)
is a Pythagorean triple.
Since c = l2n+4 + l2n+2 , we have
= 2[l2n+4 − 2(−1)n+2 ]
= 2Δ2 𝑓n+2
2
;
= 2[l2n+2 − 2(−1)n+1 ]
= 2Δ2 𝑓n+1
2
.
ln+1
Similarly, lim = 𝛼. Thus
n→∞ ln
𝑓n+1 ln+1
lim = 𝛼 = lim , (31.5)
n→∞ 𝑓n n→∞ ln
where x > 0.
For the curious-minded, we add that
{
𝑓n+1 (0) 0 if n is odd
=
𝑓n (0) undef ined otherwise;
{
ln+1 (0) undef ined if n is odd
=
ln (0) 0 otherwise.
To begin, we have
Similarly,
2n ( )
∑ 2n
(x2 + 4)n = (2𝛽)k (−x)2n−k . (31.7)
k=0
k
2n ( )
∑ 2n
2(x2 + 4)n = (−2)k lk x2n−k (31.8)
k=0
k
2n ( )
∑ 2n
0= (−2)k 𝑓k x2n−k ; (31.9)
k=0
k
4 ( )
∑ 4
(−2)k lk x4−k = l0 x4 − 8l1 x3 + 24l2 x2 − 32l3 x + 16l4
k=0
k
2n ( )
∑ 2n
(−2)k Lk = 2 ⋅ 5n .
k=0
k
J.L. Brown of Pennsylvania State University found this result in 1965 [59].
The next example is an interesting application of identity (31.1).
= 𝑓n+1 + (−1)(n−2)∕2 𝑓1
{
𝑓n+1 − 1 if n ≡ 0 (mod 4)
=
𝑓n+1 + 1 if n ≡ 2 (mod 4).
= x7 + 6x5 + 10x3 + 4x
= 𝑓8 .
𝑓2n+1 = 𝑓n+1
2
+ 𝑓n2 ; (31.16)
2
xl2n+1 = ln+1 − (x2 + 4)𝑓n2 (31.17)
= (x2 + 4)𝑓n+1
2
− ln2 ; (31.18)
2
see Exercises 31.78–31.80. Consequently, ln+1 + ln2 = (x2 + 4)𝑓2n+1 .
The next example features a neat application of identity (31.10). It was origi-
nally studied in 1969 by Swamy [489].
Consequently, we have
x 𝑓2k+2 𝑓
= − 2k
𝑓2k−1 𝑓2k+1 𝑓2k+1 𝑓2k−1
∑
n
x 𝑓2n+2 𝑓2
= −
k=1
𝑓2k−1 𝑓2k+1 𝑓2n+1 𝑓1
𝑓2n+2
= −x
𝑓2n+1
∑
n
1 𝑓2n+2
1+ = . (31.20)
k=1
𝑓2k−1 𝑓2k+1 x𝑓2n+1
14 Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials I
x 𝑓2k+3 𝑓2k+1
− = −
𝑓2k 𝑓2k+2 𝑓2k+2 𝑓2k
∑
n
x 𝑓2n+3 𝑓3
− = −
k=1
𝑓2k 𝑓2k+2 𝑓2n+2 𝑓2
x𝑓2n+2 + 𝑓2n+1 x2 + 1
= −
𝑓2n+2 x
𝑓2n+1 1
= −
𝑓2n+2 x
∑
n
x2 𝑓2n+1
1− =x . (31.21)
k=1
𝑓2k 𝑓2k+2 𝑓2n+2
[ ][ ]
∑
n
x2 (x2 + 4) 1 ∑ x2 + 4
n
2
x +2− 2
+ = 1;
k=1
l2k−1 l2k+1 x + 2 k=1 l2k l2k+2
{
0 if n is odd
𝜅n =
2 otherwise.
To see a related link, property (31.22) implies that we can recover ln from 𝑓n
by integrating both sides from 0 to x:
x x
ln′ (y)dy = n 𝑓n (y)dy
∫0 ∫0
x
ln − ln (0) = n 𝑓n (y)dy
∫0
x
ln = 𝜅n + n 𝑓n (y)dy. (31.23)
∫0
( )
x
(x2 + 4)ln′′ = n nln − ln′
n
(x2 + 4)ln′′ + xln′ − n2 ln = 0. (31.26)
Both can be confirmed using PMI; see Exercises 31.96 and 31.97.
We now establish both, using different techniques.
Alternate Methods
To establish the Lucas-like formula (31.27), we employ a bit of operator theory
[284, 498]. To this end, let
⌊n∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n − k n−2k
Sn = Sn (x) = x .
k=0
k
D2 (Sn ) = D(D(Sn ))
= D(Sn+1 − xSn )
= D(Sn+1 ) − xD(Sn )
Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials 17
[( ) ( )]
∑ n+1−k n−k
= − xn−2k+2
k≥0
k − 1 k − 1
( )
∑ n−k
= xn−2k+2
k≥0
k − 2
( )
∑ n−j−1
= xn−2j .
j≥0
j − 1
Consequently,
) (
[( )]
∑
n−j−1 n−j−1
2
D (Sn ) + xD(Sn ) = + xn−2j
j≥0
j j−1
( )
∑ n−j
Sn+2 − xSn+1 = xn−2j
j≥0
j
= Sn .
as desired.
( It follows
) from formula (31.27) that the coefficient of xn−5 in 𝑓n is
n−3
= tn−4 , where tk denotes the kth triangular number and n ≥ 5.
2
For example, the coefficient of x4 in 𝑓9 is t5 = 15; see Table 31.1. Likewise, the
coefficient of xn−3 in 𝑓n is n − 2, where n ≥ 3.
18 Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials I
⌊(n−1)∕2⌋ ( )
1 ∑ 1 n−k−1
𝑓n (x)dx = .
∫0 n − 2k k
k=0
⌊(n−1)∕2⌋ ( )
∑ 1 n−k−1 1
= (Ln − 𝜅n ).
k=0
n − 2k k n
( ) ( ) ( ) ( )
∑
2
1 5−k 1 5 1 4 1 3 16 1
For example, = + + = = (L6 − 2).
k=0
6 − 2k k 6 0 4 1 2 2 6 6
( )
∑ 1
3
6−k 29 1
Similarly, = = (L7 − 0).
k=0
7 − 2k k 7 7
Fibonacci Polynomials
It follows by ) that 𝑓n+1 can be found by adding up the binomial
( (31.27)
n−k
coefficients along the northeast diagonal n, with weights xn−2k , where
k
0 ≤ k ≤ ⌊n∕2⌋.
For example,
( ) ( ) ( )
4 4 3 2 2 0
𝑓5 = x + x + x
0 1 2
=
1 x4 +
3 x2 +
1 1;
1
1 1
𝑓5
1 2 1
1 3 3 1
1 4 6 4 1
1 5 10 10 5 1
1 6 15 20 15 6 1
1
x 1
𝑓6
x2 2x 1
x3 3x2 3x 1
x4 4x3 6x2 4x 1
x5 5x4 10x3 10x2 5x 1
Figure 31.5.
( Let
) A(n, r) denote the element in row n and column r of array A. Then A(n, r) =
n n−r
x , where 0 ≤ r ≤ n.
r
Array A can be defined recursively as well:
A(0, 0) = 1, A(1, 0) = x
A(n, r) = xA(n − 1, r) + A(n − 1, r − 1),
where n ≥ 0.
2 ( )
∑ 5 − r 5−2r
For example, d5 (x) = x = x5 + 4x3 + 3x = 𝑓6 ; see Figure 31.5.
r=0
r
Lucas Polynomials
( ) ( ) ( )
n n−k n−k n−k−1
Since = + , it follows by formula (31.28)
n−k k k k−1
that
⌊n∕2⌋ [( ) ( )]
∑ n−k n−k−1
ln = + xn−2k .
k=0
k k − 1
20 Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials I
1
1 1
1 2 1
1 3 3 1
1 4 6 4 1
1 5 10 10 5 1
1 6 15 20 15 6 1
2
x 2
l5
x2 3x 2
x3 4x2 5x 2
x4 5x3 9x2 7x 2
x5 6x4 14x3 16x2 9x 2
Figure 31.7.
Pascal’s Triangle 21
⌊n∕2⌋
∑
bn (x) = B(n − r, r)
r=0
⌊n∕2⌋ [( ) ( )]
∑ n n−1
= + xn−2r
r=0
r r−1
= ln ,
where n ≥ 0.
Next we find formula (31.28) for ln in yet another way.
Lockwood’s Identity
In 1967, E.H. Lockwood developed the identity
⌊n∕2⌋ [( ) ( )]
∑ n−k n−k−1
u + 𝑣 = (u + 𝑣) +
n n n
(−1) k
+ (u𝑣)k (u + 𝑣)n−2k
k=1
k k−1
⌊n∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n n−k
u +𝑣 =
n n
(−1) (u𝑣)k (u + 𝑣)n−2k .
k
(31.29)
k=0
n − k k
⌊n∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n n − k n−2k
ln = x .
k=0
n−k k
( )
∑
3
7 7−k
For example, 𝑓7 = (−1)k (x2 + 4)7−2k = x6 + 5x4 + 6x2 + 1.
k=0
7−k k
It follows from formula (31.30) that
( )
∑
n
2n + 1 2n − k + 1 n−k
F2n+1 = (−1) k
5 .
k=0
2n − k + 1 k
The Binet-like formulas, coupled with the binomial theorem, can be used to
develop explicit formulas for 𝑓n and ln (see Exercises 31.99 and 31.100):
⌊(n−1)∕2⌋ ( )
1 ∑ n
𝑓n = (x2 + 4)k xn−2k−1 ; (31.31)
2n−1 k=0
2k + 1
⌊n∕2⌋ ( )
1 ∑ n
ln = (x2 + 4)k xn−2k . (31.32)
2n−1 k=0
2k
2 ( )
1 ∑ 5
For example, 𝑓5 = (x2 + 4)k x4−2k = x4 + 3x2 + 1; and
16 k=0 2k + 1
2 ( )
1 ∑ 5
l5 = (x2 + 4)k x5−2k = x5 + 5x3 + 5x.
16 k=0 2k
It follows from formulas (31.31) and (31.32) that
⌊(n−1)∕2⌋ ( )
1 ∑ n
Fn = 5k ;
2n−1 k=0
2k + 1
⌊n∕2⌋ ( )
1 ∑ n
Ln = 5k .
2n−1 k=0
2k
⌊n∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n
(x2 + 4)k xn−2k
k=0 2k
ln = .
⌊n∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n
k=0 2k
Using the binomial theorem, we can develop formulas for l2n ± ln , as the next
example shows.
⌊n∕2⌋ ( ) ( )
∑ n ( ) ⌊(n−1)∕2⌋
∑ n ( )
l2n + ln = l2k x2k + xn−2k + l2k+1 x2k+1 − xn−2k−1 ;
k=0
2k k=0
2k + 1
(31.33)
⌊n∕2⌋ ( ) ( )
∑ n ( ) ⌊(n−1)∕2⌋
∑ n ( )
l2n − ln = l2k x2k − xn−2k + l2k+1 x2k+1 + xn−2k−1 .
k=0
2k k=0
2k + 1
(31.34)
⌊n∕2⌋ ( ) ⌊(n−1)∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n ∑ n
𝛼 2n
= 2k
(𝛼x) + (𝛼x)2k+1 .
k=0
2k k=0
2k + 1
Similarly,
⌊n∕2⌋ ( ) ⌊(n−1)∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n ∑ n
𝛽 2n
= 2k
(𝛽x) + (𝛽x)2k+1 .
k=0
2k k=0
2k + 1
⌊n∕2⌋ ( ) ⌊(n−1)∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n ∑ n
l2n = 2k
l x + l2k+1 x2k+1 . (31.36)
k=0
2k 2k k=0
2k + 1
24 Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials I
⌊n∕2⌋ ( ) ⌊(n−1)∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n ∑ n
𝛽 =
n
𝛼 x
2k n−2k
− 𝛼 2k+1 xn−2k−1 . (31.37)
k=0
2k k=0
2k + 1
Similarly,
⌊n∕2⌋ ( ) ⌊(n−1)∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n ∑ n
𝛼 =
n
𝛽 x
2k n−2k
− 𝛽 2k+1 xn−2k−1 . (31.38)
k=0
2k k=0
2k + 1
⌊n∕2⌋ ( ) ⌊(n−1)∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n ∑ n
ln = l2k xn−2k − l2k+1 xn−2k−1 . (31.39)
k=0
2k k=0
2k + 1
The given identities now follow by combining equations (31.36) and (31.39).
⌊n∕2⌋( ) ( )
∑ n ( ) ⌊(n−1)∕2⌋
∑ n ( )
𝑓2n + 𝑓n = 𝑓2k x2k − xn−2k + 𝑓2k+1 x2k+1 + xn−2k−1 ;
k=0
2k k=0
2k + 1
⌊n∕2⌋ ( ) ( )
∑ n ( 2k ) ⌊(n−1)∕2⌋
∑ n ( )
𝑓2n − 𝑓n = 𝑓 x +x n−2k
+ 𝑓2k+1 x2k+1 − xn−2k−1 .
k=0
2k 2k k=0
2k + 1
(31.40)
⌊(n−1)∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n ( )
𝑓3n − A + B + C − D = l2(n−2k) 𝑓2k 1 − x2k +
k=0
2k + 1
⌊(n−1)∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n ( )
l2(n−2k−1) 𝑓2k+1 1 + x2k+1 , (31.41)
k=0
2k + 1
⌊(n−1)∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n
L2n − Ln = 2 L ;
k=0
2k + 1 2k+1
⌊(n−1)∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n
n
F3n + 2 Fn = 2 L F .
k=0
2k + 1 2(n−2k−1) 2k+1
H.T. Leonard, Jr. and Hoggatt developed these three special cases in 1968
[319].
Next we show how the Lucas recurrence and a suitable modulus can be effec-
tively used to find the ends of the numbers ln , where x is a positive integer such
that x2 + s = A ⋅ 10t for some positive integers s, t, and A.
TABLE 31.4.
n 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
2
ln (mod x + 1) 2 x 1 2x −1 x −2 −x −1 −2x 1 −x
TABLE 31.5.
n 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
2
ln (mod Δ ) 2 x −2 −x 2 x −2 −x
26 Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials I
Thus
⎧ 2 (mod Δ2 ) if n ≡ 0 (mod 4)
⎪ 2
⎪ x (mod Δ ) if n ≡ 1 (mod 4)
ln = ⎨
2
⎪−2 (mod Δ ) if n ≡ 2 (mod 4)
⎪
⎩−x (mod Δ2 ) otherwise.
An Important Observation
It follows from Table 31.5 that ln ≢ 0 (mod Δ2 ); so no Lucas polynomial is divis-
ible by x2 + 4. Consequently, no Lucas number ends in 0 or 5.
Next we find generating functions for the sequences {𝑓n } and {ln }.
∑
∞
Let g(z) = gn zn , where gn = gn (x). Then, by the Fibonacci recurrence, we have
n=0
Thus
g0 + (g1 − xg0 )z ∑
∞
= gn zn .
1 − xz − z2 n=0
In particular,
z ∑ ∞
2
= 𝑓n zn ; (31.42)
1 − xz − z n=0
2 − xz ∑ ∞
2
= ln z n .
1 − xz − z n=0
∑
∞ ( )2
z
𝑓n′ zn =
n=0
1 − xz − z2
(∞ )2
∑
= 𝑓n z n
n=0
( n )
∑ ∑
∞
= 𝑓k 𝑓n−k zn .
n=0 k=0
Equating the coefficients of zn from both sides, we get the desired formula:
∑
n−1
𝑓n′ = 𝑓k 𝑓n−k .
k=1
∑
4
For example, 𝑓k 𝑓5−k = 𝑓1 𝑓4 + 𝑓2 𝑓3 + 𝑓3 𝑓2 + 𝑓4 𝑓1 = 2[(x3 + 2x) +
k=1
x(x2 + 1)] = 4x3 + 6x = 𝑓5′ .
Now we introduce briefly two interesting subfamilies of the Fibonacci–Lucas
family [285].
Pell polynomials pn (x) and Pell–Lucas polynomials qn (x) are defined by pn (x) =
𝑓n (2x) and qn (x) = ln (2x), respectively. Both satisfy the same second-order
recurrence gn (x) = 2xgn−1 (x) + gn−2 (x), where n ≥ 2. When g0 (x) = 0 and
g1 (x) = 1, gn (x) = pn (x); and when g0 (x) = 2 and g1 (x) = 2x, gn (x) = qn . Again,
⇒ we delete the argument from the functional notation when such a notational
switch causes no confusion. Table 31.6 gives the first ten Pell and Pell–Lucas
polynomials.
Correspondingly, the Pell numbers Pn and Pell–Lucas numbers Qn are given
by Pn = pn (1) = 𝑓n (2) and 2Qn = qn (1) = ln (2). Table 31.7 gives the first ten Pell
and Pell–Lucas numbers. Table A.2 in the Appendix gives the first 100 Pell and
Pell–Lucas numbers. Clearly, pn (1∕2) = Fn and qn (1∕2) = Ln .
Pell polynomials were mistakenly named after the English mathematician
John Pell (1611–1685). Although Pell numbers occur in the study of the (Pell’s)
equation u2 − 2𝑣2 = (−1)n , the attribution of Pell’s name to this equation,
and hence to Pell numbers, is due to an innocent error by the great Swiss
mathematician L. Euler.
28 Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials I
The day succeeding that on which Mr. Sharp found the nail in the
field coil was another of those cold, stormy days so typical of the
fall. The heavens were gray with threatening clouds. Fitfully the wind
moaned and sobbed, and there was a rawness in the atmosphere
that penetrated even the warmest of woolen clothing. Everything
portended the approach of a storm.
The weather itself was enough to make one gloomy. But Henry,
already worried sadly by the misfortune that had befallen him, was
almost sick with apprehension. If only he could have done
something toward unraveling the mystery that surrounded him, time
would have passed more quickly and not so dismally. But there
seemed to be nothing he could do except wait.
The day’s newspapers, brought aboard with the mail, told of gales
raging farther along the coast, and of storm warnings posted along
the entire Atlantic. Evidently another gale was sweeping the ocean.
Terrible as had been the storm Henry had so recently witnessed, he
felt that he would almost rejoice at an opportunity to go out and
face another. Then there would be a chance to do something, there
would be an opportunity for action.
It seemed to Henry as though he simply could not endure to
remain idle. Naturally he wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery
of the field coil. But what he should do or what he should try to do
he could not even imagine. To talk about the matter was useless.
That would get him nowhere and advertise something that was
known only to a few. Furthermore the captain himself was
continuing his investigations, and had given strict orders not to talk
about the affair.
When Henry chanced to pass the stateroom of the wireless
operators, he thought he would stop and inquire how Mr. Sharp was.
The latter had quite evidently been sick the preceding day, though
he stuck to his post. Henry knocked at the door. A feeble voice
invited him to come in. Henry entered, and found the chief
electrician alone. Belford was on watch. Henry did not know where
Black was. It did not matter. He saw at once that Mr. Sharp was very
sick. His cheeks were flushed. Henry stepped to the bunk and laid
his hand on the man’s forehead. It was dry and very hot, and his
eyes had that burned-out, almost plaintive look, that fever sufferers
sometimes have.
“Why, Mr. Sharp,” said Henry, “you’re sick; you’re real sick. You
must have a high fever.”
“I guess that I am about all in,” agreed the chief electrician. “I’ve
been taking some dope that the doctor gave me for this cold, and I
thought that I could throw it off, but I guess it’s got me.”
“Have you reported sick to the doctor?”
“No. I thought a while ago that I had better do so, but there
wasn’t any one here to take a message, and I felt so rocky I just
hadn’t gumption enough to get up and go to the doctor myself.”
“Let me call the doctor for you,” urged Henry.
“All right. I’ll be obliged to you.”
Delighted to find something to do, Henry stepped from the room
and hurried aft to the wardroom. There he found the doctor, who
came at once. When the latter had taken Mr. Sharp’s temperature
and examined him otherwise, he said: “Sparks, it’s you for the sick
bay, quick. What do you mean by lying here half dead and not
sending for help?”
“You can’t put me in any sick bay,” protested the chief electrician
weakly. “I’ve got to go on duty shortly.”
At that the doctor exploded. “Humph!” he snorted. “Duty! Yes, on
a white cot! You’ll be lucky if you see the radio room again in a
fortnight.”
Henry saw his chance. “Let me take your turns at the key, Mr.
Sharp,” he begged. “I promise you nothing more shall happen to the
instruments when I am on watch. I’ll never leave the room for a
second, after this.”
When the chief electrician seemed to hesitate, Henry continued
his pleading. “Mr. Sharp, you don’t believe that I had anything to do
with damaging that coil, do you?”
“No, I do not,” said the chief electrician decisively. “And I’m
perfectly willing to have you go back on duty, but I don’t know what
the skipper will think about it.”
“Will you ask him if I may go back on duty?” begged Henry.
“Yes,” murmured Mr. Sharp weakly.
Henry fairly raced for the captain’s cabin and told the commander
that Mr. Sharp was sick and would like to speak to him. Captain
Hardwick at once went forward. Henry stepped outside the
stateroom and the captain conferred with the chief electrician. The
result of that talk was that Mr. Sharp, who was now suffering from
pneumonia, went to the sick bay and Henry again went on duty in
the wireless house.
The very first message he caught was an order from headquarters
for the Iroquois to proceed to sea at once and take the oil tanker
Rayolite in tow. Henry was going to have his desire fulfilled. The
cutter was to go out and once more wrestle with the ocean. The
Rayolite, an unfinished tanker, was being towed from Nova Scotia to
New York. In the storm the towing tug had deserted her, and the
ship was somewhere out on the ocean, driving helplessly before the
wind. Her position was given in the despatch as approximately forty-
one north, seventy-one west. There were some maps in the wireless
shack, so after he had sent the message to the imperiled tanker
Henry looked up her position. It seemed to be almost due east of
the eastern end of Long Island. The wind was east of north, so that
the helpless tanker would be blown along almost parallel with the
coast line. Henry was glad of that. He did not want to see any more
ships piled up on the shore.
Within a very few minutes after the receipt of this message, the
Iroquois was once more heading out to sea. Clad in thick woolen
garments and oilskins, the captain stood on the bridge, conning the
cutter through the channel. He was needed there. The passage, so
fair and easy on a clear day, now called for the utmost caution.
Lowering clouds of fog were driving in from the sea, increasing in
density with every minute. Snow had begun to fall, at first coming in
gusty squalls. Then it fell steadily, the dancing flakes driven in
swirling clouds before the sweeping winds. At times the snow
changed to rain, and was flung in blinding sheets against the little
cutter.
Cautiously the Iroquois nosed her way down the channel, the
water becoming rougher and rougher as she approached the open
sea. Looking into the swirling, blinding curtain of fog and snow,
Henry did not see how the captain could possibly find his way. But
with chart and compass to direct him, and his wonderful seaman’s
sense of direction to aid him, he took the cutter from buoy to buoy,
along the channel, straight out again to the Ambrose Lightship.
With the open sea before him, the captain now confidently set the
cutter upon the course he had plotted to reach, a point to leeward of
the position forty-one north, seventy-one west, whither the Rayolite
would likely have drifted. All the while wind and sea were making
up, more and more tumultuously. In the wireless shack Henry tried
again and again to reach the Rayolite. No one on board knew
whether the unfinished tanker was equipped with wireless, but hour
after hour, at intervals, Henry persisted in his attempt to get word
from the helpless vessel. As the Iroquois continued on her way, the
wind began to shift to the east, a fact that Henry noted with
apprehension. He had seen all that he wanted to see of raging
storms that blew directly toward the shore. Regardless of wind and
wave, the Iroquois drove on through the storm, hour after hour, until
at last, as nearly as the commander could tell by dead reckoning,
the cutter had attained the desired point to leeward of the position
forty-one north, seventy-one west.
Long ago night had fallen. Again and again Henry had swept the
stormy skies with the wireless, seeking to get some answering
vibration from the Rayolite, but always his efforts had been futile.
Now, as the cutter rolled in the seas, at the point where the captain
had figured the Rayolite ought to be, there was neither light nor
sound to suggest the presence of another ship. Tumultuous waves
and driving curtains of fog and snow shut in the Iroquois. Again and
again Henry combed the atmosphere with his flashing signals, but
no answering sound returned through the night. Henry could not see
how it would be humanly possible to find a ship under such
circumstances in such a welter of raging water.
But nothing seemed to dismay Captain Hardwick. When he had
swept the seas with his searchlight, and blown his siren again and
again, without getting any response, he methodically set about
finding the lost tanker, making a grid as he had done when
searching for the derelict. All night long the cutter followed the
pattern of the grid, and all night long the storm grew worse, and
wind and sea made up more furiously than ever. The captain was
very careful to lay his course so that mostly he was either bucking
the heavy seas or running before them.
Dawn brought no cessation of the storm. With undiminished fury
it lashed the sea and clutched at the staunch little cutter. Nor was
there any sign of the lost Rayolite, until young Black, standing his
watch in the radio shack, caught a very faint call for help. He
magnified the sound to the maximum, but was able to get nothing
more. At once Henry was summoned. He threw over his switch and
flashed out an answering call, asking for the vessel’s name and
position. His message carried true, for almost immediately came a
hardly audible answer. The message was from the lost tanker. She
did not know her position. She had sixteen men aboard, with no
machinery, no ballast, and forty feet of freeboard. There was little
food and almost no water left. She had a small radio set, operated
by a small storage battery, that might carry fifty miles at most. She
was wallowing fearfully and driving helpless before the storm.
Henry remained on watch while Black took the message to the
captain. “Try to get a bearing with the radio compass,” ordered the
captain.
Black hurried to rejoin Henry. “Tell the Rayolite we want to get a
compass bearing,” said Black.
Henry turned to his key and flashed the call of the Rayolite.
Hardly audible was the acknowledgment. “Iroquois wants compass
bearing,” telegraphed Henry. “Flash letters MO continuously several
minutes. Stand by for answer.”
“Will flash let——” came the reply, so faint that Henry hardly
caught the signals. The end of the message was lost altogether.
“She’s gone,” said Henry, aghast. Then he added: “Maybe she’s
only gone out of hearing. We must be heading away from her. Tell
the captain.”
Black rushed for the captain. Henry turned to his key. Again and
again he flashed out the call of the Rayolite, but no answering signal
came through the storm. Without turning from his instruments he
knew that the Iroquois was changing her course. She began to roll
fearfully in the trough of the sea. Henry had to cling to his desk to
keep from sliding out of his chair. Once such rolling of the ship would
have filled him with terror. Now he thought little of it. He was too
intent on what he was doing.
For a long time they drove on through the storm. Belford relieved
Black in the wireless shack. Suddenly Henry became aware that
something unusual was happening. Again he sensed the fact that
the ship was turning, but this time he knew that it was different.
Now the motion of the cutter was terrifying. At times she was almost
on her beams’ ends. Henry peered out through the windows. He
noticed that life-lines had been run along the deck, to grip when
passing. He had not realized how truly awful the sea had become.
When he glanced over the side of the ship, his heart fairly stood still.
They were almost in the breakers. Evidently the captain had been
wrong in his reckoning. The cutter had almost piled up on the
shoals. She was coming about, very, very slowly. Now Henry
understood why she rolled so terribly. He clung to his desk and
watched the sea and the boiling breakers in silence, fascinated,
almost paralyzed with horror. Was the Iroquois going to be where
the Capitol City had so recently been?
At last the ship was headed about, bow to the sea, but the waves
had drifted her so close to the surf that every second Henry
expected to feel the ship jar and pound on the sands. In the pilot
house the captain stood with nerve of iron, though his cheeks had
gone white, directing every movement of the Iroquois. The instant
she was nose to the sea, he signaled for full speed ahead. The cutter
drove forward, and a huge wave, sweeping completely over her bow,
tore aft along her deck, smashing and rending. The two small boats
were snatched bodily from their davits and hurled far astern into the
raging sea. A third was torn loose, and hung by its after-fall,
swinging back and forth with the motion of the Iroquois, like a
monster pendulum, pounding the ship’s rail to pieces.
“Look!” cried Henry. “That boat will batter a hole in the side of the
ship. I must tell the captain.”
He dashed out of the radio house, leaving Belford on watch.
Before Henry had taken two steps he realized how reckless he had
been to jump out on the deck so thoughtlessly. He could not stand
erect without support. Wildly he clutched for a life-line, caught it,
and started for the bridge. But the captain was well aware of what
had happened. Already he was making preparations to cut away the
swinging boat. Sailors were issuing on deck with axes. The captain
himself came down from the bridge.
“Stand back,” roared the commander. “That boat’s liable to tear
loose and kill somebody.”
Quickly a rope was tied about the body of a sailor, and cautiously
he approached the swinging boat. Watching his opportunity, he
swung his axe against the fall, severing it. The lifeboat dropped
outboard like a plummet. An upshooting wave lifted it and flung it
aft. The sailors turned to seek shelter. A cross comber broke over the
side of the ship, drenching everybody. Henry alone was not in
oilskins. He was soaked to the skin. Quick as thought he darted to
the stateroom and grabbed up a dry jacket. He didn’t know whose it
was. Back in the radio shack, he drew off his own dripping coat and
slipped on the borrowed garment. In the warm radio shack he knew
he would soon dry out.
Steadily the Iroquois headed into the wind. That outlying shoal
that had all but caught the Iroquois was the eastern tip of Long
Island. Well enough the captain knew that, and now he corrected his
course. Somewhere to the southeast of this point the Rayolite would
likely be.
When he had worked far enough offshore, the captain changed
his course again, heading west of south. All the while Henry was
trying, from time to time, to pick up the Rayolite again with the
wireless. For a long time he got no answer to his messages. Then
came an almost inaudible reply. The Rayolite could hear the Iroquois
plainly and had answered all her calls. Once more Henry instructed
the Rayolite to sound the letters MO while the Iroquois tried to get a
compass bearing. While Henry sat at his key, Belford made his way
to the radio compass room. This was a little, squarish structure
amidships. Inside, the roof was lined with copper screening so that
the body of the operator would not influence the inductance and
affect the compass. The radio compass itself, a great wrapping of
wire on a rectangular frame, like the four sides of a rectangular box,
was mounted on a vertical metal rod, so it could be twirled round in
a circle. Encircling the revolving vertical shaft was a circular plate,
not unlike the steering wheel of a motor-car, upon which were
marked the three hundred and sixty degrees of a circle. The
compass was at zero when its windings or wire-wrapped sides were
parallel with the ship. As the compass was revolved, the listening
operator would hear, with varying degrees of loudness, the signal he
was watching for. Now he heard the sound with maximum
distinctness. Again it grew faint, and, as he twisted the compass
farther around the circle, the signal once more reached its loudest
pitch. The two maximum sound points the operator noted on the
degree-marked circular plate. Halfway between these two maximum
points, or at the point of minimum distinctness, was the desired
bearing, the point whence came the desired signal. A zero bearing
meant that the signal came from either dead ahead or astern.
Now young Belford carefully closed the door of the compass
shack, adjusted the headphones, and slowly revolved the radio
compass. Very indistinct was the signal from the Rayolite. Again and
again the young operator revolved his compass, uncertain when the
sound came loudest, so faint was it at all times. But finally he
decided upon a bearing, and through the speaking tube called up
this bearing to the quartermaster on the monkey bridge. A true
compass was located on the monkey bridge. The compass in the
radio shack deviated from this, so that it was necessary to correct
young Belford’s bearing. This the quartermaster did, and conveyed
the resulting information to the captain. There was a deviation table
in the radio shack that Belford could have consulted, but he had had
little experience with the radio compass.
Now the Iroquois was headed straight in the direction indicated by
the radio compass. Every fifteen minutes Henry flashed out the call
of the Rayolite and got a reply. For some time these replies grew
constantly stronger, and then became fainter, yet the ship signaled
that she could hear the Iroquois with increasing distinctness. It was
evident that the tanker’s wireless was failing.
Henry went up to the bridge and told the captain. The captain
considered a moment, and Henry looked about while he waited. The
storm had abated not a particle. The view was still veiled by shifting,
swirling curtains of snow, but the fog had lifted. The waves were
tremendous, but as the Iroquois was no longer bucking them, they
did not seem so terrifying. Yet the sea was appalling enough to one
so little accustomed to it as Henry was.
Suddenly the captain spoke. “Henry,” he directed, “tell the
Rayolite that her signals are getting weaker, and that her battery is
evidently going bad. Tell her to save her battery. I’m going to fire a
gun every twenty minutes. Tell her to indicate whether or not she
hears it. A single word will answer.”
Henry returned to the radio shack and flashed the message to the
tanker. A moment later there was a terrific explosion that made him
fairly jump in his chair. He began to make the sparks fly under his
key. “Iroquois just fired gun,” he flashed. “Did you hear?”
A long pause followed. Then came the faint reply, “No.”
Twenty minutes later another shot was fired. Once more Henry
called the Rayolite and asked if she had heard it. And again came
the answer, “No.”
Three times every hour the Iroquois fired a shot, but for a long
time the sound of the reports did not reach the struggling ship.
Meantime the day was passing fast. Late afternoon came, and still
the Iroquois had not found the helpless tanker. But as dusk was
descending there came the joyful word from the Rayolite, “Heard
your shot faintly.”
Again the captain called for a compass bearing. This time the
signals from the tanker came much more distinctly, and the captain
accordingly altered his course. The first faint call had given Belford a
bearing not quite correct. The Iroquois continued to fire her gun.
Forty minutes after the course was changed the Rayolite reported
that she heard the shot from the Iroquois clearly.
When Henry sought the bridge with this cheering news, the
commander said, “Tell the Rayolite operator to set his watch with
yours. At five o’clock I will fire another shot. At the same instant you
are to notify him by wireless. Tell him to note how many seconds
elapse between the time he gets your flash and the time he hears
my gun.”
Once more Henry called the Rayolite and explained the captain’s
plan. “At five exactly we will fire,” concluded Henry.
Five o’clock came. Henry sat at his desk, switch thrown over,
finger on his key. “Bang!” crashed the gun. Flash, went Henry’s
signal. Then he sat in silence, waiting almost breathlessly for the
reply. Five, ten, fifteen seconds elapsed. Half a minute went by.
There was no reply. Another half minute passed and the wireless
was silent. Henry looked worried.
“Do you suppose her wireless has failed altogether?” he asked
Belford. Before the latter could answer, Henry’s headphones began
to speak. “Sixty-five seconds difference,” came the reply, both brief
and faint.
When the captain received the news he did a little figuring.
“Thirteen miles distant,” he commented. “We ought to be up with
her in a couple of hours.”
The two hours passed, and no ship was visible. Still the storm
raged without abatement. Night had come. For two days and a night
the Iroquois had been searching the stormy sea for this tanker that
seemed to evade her so persistently. She ought to be at hand, but
nowhere could she be seen. Through the blinding storm came no
sign of the fugitive vessel. No shaft of light pierced the swirling
curtain of snow and mist.
Then suddenly there was the Rayolite, almost abreast of them,
not more than three hundred yards distant. It was impossible to
send a line to her. No small boat could live in such a sea. It was
doubtful if a shot would carry true. The captain swung the Iroquois
directly to windward of the tanker, and cut down his speed almost to
nothing. In a moment the huge ship was almost out of sight. With
her tremendous freeboard, she drove before the gale almost as fast
as the Iroquois could steam. The captain turned his searchlight
directly on the vanishing tanker, signaled for more speed, and drove
straight at her. And all night long the Iroquois steamed directly at
the Rayolite, which drove furiously ahead, under the pressure of the
gale. The captain left the bridge and threw himself on the cushioned
seats in his cabin, to snatch some sleep. Henry, who had spent long,
long hours on duty, made his way to the operators’ cabin and lay
down, fully dressed, in Black’s bed. The latter and Belford were to
watch through the night, with Henry subject to call, if messages had
to be sent. He was so worn out that he did not even remove his
coat, the jacket he had snatched from the wardrobe after his
wetting.
Daylight saw no cessation of the wind, though the snow had
ceased to fall, and no longer was the face of the deep clouded with
mist. When the captain came on deck again, after a few hours’ rest,
he pushed the cutter straight at the Rayolite until she was close
behind her. Meantime he had sent a wireless to the tanker, telling
her to watch for a line. Now the little brass gun was brought to the
cutter’s forward rail, and that sturdy little craft was pushed still
nearer the tanker, which was driving ahead, broadside to. At a
favorable moment the shot was fired, the slender shot-line went
hurtling squarely over the centre of the huge tanker, and the men on
her seized it and began to draw it home. A heavier line was bent to
it, and soon the end of this had been pulled aboard the Rayolite.
Meantime a heavy towing hawser had been passed out through a
stern chock of the Iroquois, and the bight of it brought forward,
outside of the rail, where it was stopped up or tied with little stops
or small ropes. This was to keep the hawser from fouling the
propeller, when the cutter should swing around, stern to her tow.
Then the hawser was rove round the cutter’s forward bitts. Through
Henry the commander now sent a message to the Rayolite.
“Take hawser in through your forward chock and make it fast
around your foremast,” telegraphed Henry.
The men on the Rayolite bent to their task and soon pulled the
great hawser aboard. They made it fast to the mast.
“Everything ready,” came the message to Henry from the Rayolite.
The captain signaled for more speed. The Iroquois was pushed
ahead to get slack. Then the bight of the hawser was cast off the
bitts, and the speed of the cutter lessened. Gradually the hawser
grew taut. It stretched as tight as a fiddlestring. Then slowly the
giant tanker, pressed by the wind, began to turn. The hawser, led
through her forward chock, held her bow fast. The wind drove her
stern round until she was head to the Iroquois. In another moment
the Iroquois herself began to swing. With a startling snap one of the
slender stops that held the hawser to the rail parted. Another broke
under the strain. The cutter swung further around. One stop after
another parted. Finally the Iroquois lay stern to her tow, the hawser
taut between them, with no danger of its fouling the propeller.
In turning, the little cutter lay for a moment in the trough of the
sea. She rolled alarmingly. At her first pitch Henry’s chair went
sliding across the floor, and pads and pencils flew from the desk. At
the same instant a message from the Rayolite began to sound in the
lad’s ear. He could not reach his fallen pencils. Instinctively he
reached in the pocket of the jacket he was wearing. He found a
mass of trash and drew it forth, hoping to find a pencil. There were
strings, matches, cigarette papers, bits of chalk, and other articles.
Among the mass shone two slender little cylinders of metal that
made Henry’s heart fairly stop beating. They were two slender
finishing nails.
CHAPTER XVIII
A CLUE TO THE CULPRIT
With the call of the Rayolite sounding in his ears, Henry had to
leave the nails for later consideration. He swept all the mass of stuff
back into his pocket and turned to his key. When he had taken the
message, he sent it up to the captain by a sailor. That done, he
stripped off the coat and searched it thoroughly. But nothing else of
interest was to be found. The coat was one of those dark blue sailor
jackets. There were dozens exactly like it on the Iroquois. No name
or identifying initials could be found in it. Henry was not really sure
whose coat it was. Both Black and Belford had been wearing heavy
sweaters. The coat might belong to either. It might even be Mr.
Sharp’s coat. Henry had grabbed it out of the wardrobe when his
own had got wet, with little thought as to who owned it.
Presently Belford came on duty. “I’m much obliged for the loan of
your coat,” said Henry. “I grabbed it and pulled it on yesterday after
I got wet, without stopping to ask your permission.”
Belford looked at the coat a moment, then looked inside. “It’s not
my coat,” he observed. “I have my initials sewed in mine. But you’d
be welcome to it if it were mine.”
Henry drew a deep sigh of relief. “So it’s not yours, eh? Then
whose is it?”
“That’s Black’s, I’m sure.”
“I think I’ll get a breath of fresh air,” said Henry.
“That won’t be difficult. It’s blowing a streak, but nothing like it
did yesterday.”
Henry left the radio shack and made his way to the bridge.
“Captain Hardwick,” he said, “when you find it convenient, I’d like to
talk to you privately.”
The captain looked at Henry sharply. “Come to my cabin at noon,”
he said.
All the morning long the commander remained at his post on the
bridge. The storm was easing up, but the high seas made the towing
of the Rayolite difficult. Too much strain on the towing hawser would
cause it to part. With too little tension, the Rayolite was harder to
handle. The captain, with his long experience, knew that he dare not
relax his vigilance for a moment, but when mess gear was piped, he
turned the control of the cutter over to Lieutenant Hill with a few
words of caution, and made his way to his cabin.
Impatiently Henry had been waiting for this move, and hardly had
Captain Hardwick reached his quarters before the lad was knocking
at his door.
“Well, Henry,” smiled the commander as the young wireless
operator entered the cabin, “what can I do for you?”
“Do you see this jacket?” asked Henry, with feverish eagerness,
pulling off the garment in question. “When I got wet yesterday while
that small boat was being cut loose, I ran into the stateroom and
grabbed this coat out of the wardrobe. I put it on in place of my own
wet one. This morning I got to feeling around in the pocket in search
of a pencil and this is what I found.”
From the pocket Henry drew out the entire mass of rubbish and
dumped it on the captain’s table. Then he sorted out the two
finishing nails and handed them to the captain. “They looked to me
exactly like the nail Mr. Sharp found in the damaged field coil,”
explained Henry.
The commander examined the nails with interest. Unlocking a
drawer in his desk, he drew out the nail Mr. Sharp had given him and
laid it beside the others. The three were identical, though of course
the one was bent.
“Whose coat is that?” demanded Captain Hardwick.
“I can’t say for sure, sir, but I think it’s Black’s. Belford says it is.”
“I thought I gave orders not to say anything about this matter,”
said the captain severely, an angry frown wrinkling his forehead.
“I haven’t been talking about it. I merely asked Mr. Belford if the
coat was his. I didn’t tell him about the nails.”
“Who was with you when you found the nails?”
“Nobody, sir.”
“Nobody! Then how do I know that you really found them in the
coat? What was to prevent you from putting them in the coat
yourself and then bringing it to me, to throw suspicion on Black?”
Poor Henry! For a moment he looked heartbroken. Then he
became indignant. “Captain Hardwick,” he cried, “do you think I
would do a trick like that?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” replied the commander. “The fact
that you found two finishing nails in Black’s coat doesn’t prove
anything. There may be a dozen other coats on this ship with similar
nails in them. Don’t you see that it is one thing to assert something
and quite another to prove it? This is likely Black’s coat, though you
haven’t proved even that. But it doesn’t follow that Black put the
nails in his coat. Somebody else may have done it, even if you
didn’t.”
“Captain Hardwick,” protested Henry, “don’t you trust me at all?”
The captain smiled. “It isn’t a matter of trust, Henry. You come to
me with something you regard as evidence against Black. I’m glad to
have any evidence in the matter that is evidence, but we must be
sure that it is, before we use it. Don’t you understand what I am
driving at?”
“I see,” said Henry, drawing a breath of relief. “The finding of
these nails isn’t proof of anything. I grasp that all right. But it’s—
suggestive.”
“Now you are on exactly the right tack. It’s very suggestive. You
think that I’ve been a little hard on you, Henry. I want to be fair.
Now I’ll say that I think it much more likely that Black would have
had nails in his coat than that you would have had them about you.
Boys dressed to go visiting don’t ordinarily carry nails with them.”
Henry’s face evidently showed the relief he felt. The captain
smiled again. “It was quite right for you to bring me this coat,” he
continued. “I shall follow up this suggestion. Meantime I want you to
go on about your work and say nothing about the matter.”
Henry thanked the commander and withdrew from the cabin.
Hardly had he left before the captain punched his call-bell and sent
Rollin to summon the quartermaster. The latter was the captain’s
prime favorite and right-hand man among the non-commissioned
officers.
“Quartermaster,” said the commander when his helper appeared,
“immediately after I go back to the bridge, I want you to slip into
the wireless stateroom without being observed, and search the
place. Keep your eyes open, especially for nails like this,” and the
commander held out the two nails Henry had given him. “Look in all
the nooks and corners, the bunks, and elsewhere, and notice
anything out of the ordinary that you find. Above all, as you value
your job, don’t say a word about this to any one.”
When Captain Hardwick passed to the bridge, he poked his head
into the radio shack. “Belford,” he said, “I want you in the chart-
room. And I want you, Black, to stick close to your instruments.
Don’t leave them for a second. The Rayolite may be signaling us at
any time, and it’s important to catch her message instantly. The
hawser is likely to part at any moment if we aren’t careful. Harper is
to stand watch with you.”
Belford followed his commander up to the chart-room, where he
was put to work erasing lines from some old charts. The
quartermaster promptly seized his opportunity to slip into the
stateroom, where he locked the door, hung a cloth over the window,
and got to work. For more than an hour he searched everywhere
and found nothing out of the way. But when he got to work in the
bunks, he found, tucked securely away under the top mattress, a
peculiar little hammer. He put the room to rights again, uncovered
the window-pane, picked up the hammer, and, concealing it in the
palm of his hand, stepped out on deck.
He found himself face to face with the ship’s carpenter. A sudden
lurch of the ship threw them together. Laughing, each grasped the
other. As well as he could the quartermaster kept his fingers closed
over the hammer-head, but the quick eyes of the carpenter saw the
protruding ends of it.
“So you’re the fellow who borrowed that, are you?” he said. “I’ve
been hunting all over for that hammer. Why didn’t you tell me you
had borrowed it?”
For a moment the quartermaster was at a loss. He knew not what
to say. Then he asked the carpenter to come with him to the
captain.
“Captain,” said the quartermaster, when they had mounted to the
bridge, “I have some things I would like to tell you. The carpenter
here can help explain them.”
The captain stepped to the chart-room and dismissed Belford,
who at once departed. Then the captain, the quartermaster, and the
carpenter stepped into the chart-room and closed the doors.
“I found this hammer under the mattress of the top bunk in the
wireless men’s room,” explained the quartermaster. “Black sleeps in
that bunk. As I came out on deck I bumped into the carpenter, here.
I thought that I had the hammer concealed, but he caught sight of it
in my closed fist. It seems he has been looking for this very hammer
for some days. It belongs in his tool kit.”
“When and how did you lose your hammer?” asked the
commander.
“I was using it last Thursday. When evening mess gear was piped,
I had not quite finished the job I was doing, and I left it lying with
my work while I ate my supper. When I went back to finish the job,
the hammer was missing.”
“Where were you at work?”
“Close to the stairway where the men come down from deck, sir. I
pushed my work to one side, where it would not be in the way, and
stepped to the table. I wasn’t away from it half an hour.”
“The hammer was where any one could get it easily, was it?”
“Yes, sir. It was just beside the stairway. Any one going up or
down the stairs could have seen it, and it was necessary to take only
a step to one side of the stairway to reach it. Any one going up the
steps from supper could have picked it up easily without being
noticed.”
“What were you doing with the hammer?”
“I was making a case for the executive officer, sir. He wanted a
case with pigeonholes to hold some of his account books.”
“Then you were using small nails to fasten in the partitions with, I
take it.”
“Yes, sir, some long, thin, finishing nails. They were like these, sir.”
And the carpenter thrust his hand into his pocket, drew forth an
assortment of nails, and fished out a finishing nail that was the
duplicate of those Henry had so recently found.
“Give it to me,” directed the captain.
“It looks to me,” continued the commander, after the carpenter
had handed him the nail, “as though some one coming up to the
deck after eating must have picked up your hammer and perhaps
some nails with it.”
“I can’t say about the nails,—they were scattered about on the
case,—but there is no doubt some one got the hammer.”
“It looks as though young Black got it,” said the quartermaster.
The captain dismissed the two men. “I don’t want a word said
about this,” he warned them. “Be very careful that you do not
mention it to any one.”
The moment he was alone the captain turned to a calendar. “Last
Thursday,” he muttered to himself, “was the day we got back to New
York from Boston. Henry was on duty in the wireless house every
minute that evening. I don’t know that he even got any supper. I
must find out what Black was doing at that hour. I guess the best
way to do it is through the quartermaster.”
Again the quartermaster was called and instructed to find out
from the third-class wireless man, without arousing the latter’s
suspicions, at what time he ate his supper on the preceding
Thursday evening. That was not a difficult thing to do. Later in the
day the quartermaster engaged young Black in conversation and
turned the talk to the events of their run from Boston.
“You missed your supper the night we got in, didn’t you?” asked
the quartermaster.
“Not on your life,” said Black. “You don’t catch me missing
anything like that. I was one of the first fellows at the table.”
“I’ll bet I’ll be one of the first there this noon,” said the
quartermaster. “I’m hungry enough to eat a bear.”
He said good-bye to Black and reported to Captain Hardwick.
When the commander was alone, he said to himself: “The trail
grows warm. Black went to supper at the first pipe of the whistle. He
likely finished before the others, and went out. Nails and hammer lay
invitingly beside the stairway. Unobserved, he snatched up the
hammer and some nails, and thrust them into his coat. A little later a
nail of that same kind got into the wireless outfit. Later still, nails
and hammer are found in Black’s possession, or, what amounts to
the same thing.”
The captain frowned. “But Black was asleep when that nail got
into the wireless,” he commented. He pondered a moment. “By
George! I wonder if he was asleep,” he exclaimed. “Everything
hinges on that. How am I going to find out?”
CHAPTER XIX
THE CULPRIT DISCOVERED
Night had come before the captain left the bridge. As he paced
back and forth he turned over in his mind the problem of the
finishing nail. Black could not have driven the nail into the field coil if
he was really asleep at the time he was believed to have been. Was
Black asleep or not? How was he ever to discover? Again and again
the commander of the Iroquois asked himself that question, as he
moved about the bridge. He could see no way to solve the problem.
Gradually the wind fell, and with its fall the sea grew less violent.
The cloud rack thinned. Vigilantly the captain watched the sky.
Finally what he was looking for appeared. The clouds parted for a
space, revealing the purple vault of heaven, studded with shining
stars. Quickly he seized his instruments and ascertained his position.
Now he knew exactly where the Iroquois was. The position of the
cutter was but little different from that in which his dead reckoning
put her. The captain rectified his position on the chart, and then,
vastly relieved, he turned the cutter over to Lieutenant Hill and went
to his cabin. The Rayolite was towing securely, wind and sea were
growing calmer with every hour, and the cutter’s position was known
exactly. He had done a hard job and done it well. No wonder the
commander was gratified.
If only he could handle the other problem as satisfactorily. But
how? That was the question he asked himself over and over. Rollin
brought the commander food. When he had eaten, Captain
Hardwick got out the three finishing nails. He sat looking at them for
a while, his brow wrinkled in deep thought. “If Sparks is fit to be
seen,” he said to himself, “I ought to show him these. He might be
able to suggest some course of action that would help.”
Captain Hardwick arose and went forward to the sick bay. He met
the surgeon at the door. “How’s Mr. Sharp?” asked the commander.
“He’s pretty sick, Captain, but I think he’ll pull through all right.
He’s got a fine constitution and is tough as nails. But we’ll have to
take care of him.”
The captain seemed to hesitate. “I—I suppose it wouldn’t do to
talk to him?” he asked.
“Well, that would depend. It would hardly do any harm to talk to
him a moment and wish him a quick recovery. It wouldn’t be wise to
talk to him, though, if your conversation would excite him.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t do,” said the captain regretfully. “Yet I
wanted very much to talk to him.”
“I don’t want to be inquisitive, Captain, but perhaps if you could
give me an idea of what you want to say to him, I could judge if it
would be best. Perhaps, though, it is a private matter.”
“No, it isn’t, Doctor. It’s a matter that concerns us all. You are one
of my official family, and I may as well tell you. Only please do not
talk about it.”
“Of course I wouldn’t repeat what you say, Captain, but don’t tell
me unless you wish to do so.”
“You recall that we had a little difficulty with the wireless the
evening we got back to New York from Boston, don’t you, Doctor?”
“Yes. That was the evening Sparks, here, got back aboard. I
heard something had gone wrong. But the chief electrician soon
fixed it up, I was told. I supposed that it didn’t amount to anything.”
“In a way, it didn’t. In another way, it was a very serious affair.”
“So?” queried the doctor.
“Yes. The difficulty was merely a grounded coil in the field. But
the coil had been grounded purposely, and grounded by some one
on this ship.” The surgeon was all attention. “We were just coming
up the channel and about to drop anchor. It was early evening—
seven o’clock, to be exact. Young Harper was on watch. He received
a message for me, and, leaving the wireless shack, he ran up to the
bridge to me. I read the message, wrote a reply, and Henry ran back
to his key. A little later he came charging back, to say that his
wireless wouldn’t work. I sent for the other wireless men. Belford
was talking to the quartermaster beside the wheelhouse. Black was
fast asleep in his bunk. But Sharp came aboard in a few moments,
found the trouble, and fixed the outfit up.”
“That is what I had understood,” remarked the doctor.
“Next day,” continued the captain, “Mr. Sharp found out what had
grounded the defective coil. It was this.” And the commander held
out the bent finishing nail. “Some one had driven that nail into the
coil in those few minutes that Henry was up in the chart-room with
me.”
“Can it be possible!” cried the doctor, amazed.
“I regret to say it is. What is more, Henry pulled on a coat of
Black’s after his ducking yesterday, and this morning he found these
in the pocket of that coat.”
“You don’t mean it!” exclaimed the surgeon.
“And what’s still more,” continued the captain, “my quartermaster
found a hammer in Black’s bunk, that the carpenter says was stolen
at supper time of the evening we anchored—just a few minutes
before the coil was ruined. The hammer was lying, with nails like
these, on the carpenter’s work at the foot of the stairs leading to the
mess-table. Furthermore, Black and Harper had words, and Black
threatened to fix Harper for reporting him to me. The thing leads to
Black as straight as a string. But there’s one weak link in the chain of
evidence: Black was asleep at the time this was done.”
“When did you say it happened?”
“At seven o’clock in the evening, just as we were coming to
anchor.”
The surgeon was silent a moment, lost in thought. Then suddenly
he spoke. “I remember it all very well. We were, as you say, just
coming to anchor. I recall it because I had been sent for to look after
one of the sailors who had crushed a finger while working with the
anchor-chain. I remember distinctly that the first thing I heard,
when I put my head out of the companionway, was the ship’s bell. It
was exactly seven o’clock.”
“That’s exactly the instant Henry was scampering up the ladder to
me,” said the captain.
“I hurried forward,” continued the surgeon. “A few seconds later I
reached the radio shack. A dark figure came tearing around the rear
of that structure and almost bumped into me. The fellow saw me
and drew back. I passed on. The fellow went into the radio room, for
I distinctly heard the door slam after I passed. He was evidently in
too much of a hurry to shut it quietly.”
The surgeon paused. “The fellow!” cried the captain. “Who was
he? Have you any idea?”
“I certainly have. Although it was perfectly dark out on deck, I
saw the man’s face clearly outlined against a light. It was Black.”
CHAPTER XX
HENRY’S EXONERATION
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