As the steward1 helped pull up the rubber dress about the body of Dennis, he spoke2 in a low voice.
"Beg pardon, sir, but hit looks like you 'ad lost your knife."
Dennis glanced down at the deck where his paraphernalia3 lay. The belt and sheath were there; but the large knife, a regular part of every diver's equipment, was missing.
"That's queer!" he said slowly. "Hm! Probably Corny lost the knife and didn't notice it. Better get me one from the galley4, steward: it'll take a carving5 knife to fit that big sheath."
"Yes, sir." The steward slipped off into the mist. The two Kanakas stood at the pump-wheels, shivering in the mist and talking together.
A moment later the steward reappeared, carrying a long, keenly edged carving knife. He tried it in the sheath, and it fitted well enough.
"Werry good, sir. All set!"
Dennis liked the little Cockney—he liked the man's thorough responsibility in his job of watching the pumps. But now, as he helped adjust the back and breast-pieces, and buckled6 the belt about his waist, he felt once more that in this work he was putting himself in the power of his enemies.
He forced a laugh at the idea; yet it took a supreme7 effort to conquer his imagination. They did not want to kill him, of course—but if they did, how easy in this fog! But that was all nonsense. There was no question of murdering. The very notion was folly8!
Dennis helped the steward adjust the big copper9 helmet, and the Cockney screwed it fast into the neck-plate. A moment later, Dennis was climbing over the rail. The usual diver's shot-line would carry him straight down, and besides this, a ladder had been slung10 over the stern to assist in the ascent11. The steward gave him the four lines, attached to the rail at intervals12 which would prevent their fouling13 after being attached to the cases, and Dennis slipped down into the depths.
As always, the steady and regular clicking of the pumps sounded through his air valves with reassuring14 effect. Captain Pontifex had not provided very up-to-date outfits15, with telephones and electric lights and other frills—for this reason no diving work could be done at night. The suits were good and dependable, however, lacking only gloves to make them well adapted to this icy water.
Dennis resolutely16 dismissed all thoughts of possible danger, and concentrated his attention upon the work in hand.
As Corny had reported, the water down below was clear enough for work, but the lack of filtering sunlight made it gloomy, grey, and obscure in details. When at last Dennis felt his feet touch the bottom, he was forced to stand for a moment and adjust his eyesight to the altered conditions. Presently he was enabled to descry17 objects, and he moved toward the scattered18 and far-strewn heaps of boxes which lay between the two sections of the John Simpson.
Dennis could see nothing of Pontifex at work below, but in the present obscurity that was not strange. Besides, the divers19, from waist and stern of the Pelican20, kept as far apart as possible for fear of the lines fouling.
Now, as he advanced, Dennis thought that he perceived a dimly moving shape off to his left to seaward; but it vanished almost instantly. It might have been some fish, he concluded, or a bunch of drifting algae21. It was now hard upon noon, and the tide was fast on the ebb22.
With the strange buoyancy which comes to the diver on the bottom, Dennis took leaps, one after the other, with a boyish delight. He cleared no ground this way, however, and soon returned to the slow progress afoot; there was too much danger of losing his balance and burying his helmet in the ooze23 as he came down.
Presently he came to an upright crowbar in a heap of boxes, which Corny had been using to pry24 loose each case in order to pass the bight of a line around it. Dennis found two loose boxes and made fast two of his lines; but without tying himself to the pile, he could not use the crowbar—his own buoyancy was too great. So, to save time, he passed on to some scattered cases ahead.
At this juncture25, his remaining two lines fouled26 about his dragging air hose. When at length he got them extricated27 and clear, he had great difficulty in maintaining his balance against the set of the tide. But at length he got the first line fast to a box, and with the second line he secured another.
As he straightened up and grasped his safety-line to signal the steward that he was ready to ascend28, he observed a great shadowy mass in the water ahead. Accustomed to the gloom by this time, he perceived that the mass was the after-end of the John Simpson, reaching up through the water on a sharp incline.
He tugged29 at his line. To his amazement30 he felt no resistance whatever. He tugged harder, more sharply—and the line coiled snakily toward him. At the same instant he heard a sharp click behind his ear; the safety valve in his helmet had snapped shut. His air-tight hose and his line had been parted!
In this supreme moment, when he faced inescapable death, Tom Dennis felt none of his previous fear. His brain worked like a clock.
He knew that either from the stern above, or from the water beneath he had been cut off and left to die. He had been too slow—he had failed to heed31 his inward premonitions. And the sheer horror of it was that he would not die for a comparatively long time. There was sufficient air in his helmet and in the bellying32 folds of his rubber suit to sustain life for several minutes!
What good would this do him? None! What good would it do him to reach the line he had made fast to boxes? None. This was no accident. The ends of his lines told him that they had been cut clean, severed33. Those above would disregard any possible signals, would let him perish miserably34. He could depend upon no one. He was trapped, helpless, murdered!
Then suddenly, Dennis perceived something in the water behind him. He turned.
Not a dozen feet distant, another diver stood there, helmet turned toward him watching. Through the thick glass Dennis glimpsed keen dark eyes, a gleam of white teeth; this was not Pontifex at all. Recognition came to him, and a thin cry escaped his lips—Dumont! Here was the murderer!
Dennis gripped his knife, half-minded to retaliate35 upon this assassin who had cut his lines; for in the man's hand he dimly caught the glitter of steel. But, as Dennis tensed himself for the leap, he checked the movement—another dim figure had appeared!
Amazement held Dennis spellbound, incredulous. There had been but two diving-suits aboard the Pelican; of this he was quite certain. Yet here upon the sea floor stood three divers!
Dumont—for the second figure was manifestly that of the cook—stood staring at Dennis as though inviting36 any hostile movement. But the third figure suddenly rose in the water with a great leap—rose and threw itself forward, and went caroming down upon ............