Immediately Locke’s helmet filled with sea water, while the pressure became enormous.  Locke tried to hold his breath, while his hand searched for the liberating knob.  He gave it one twist.  It worked perfectly.  Locke’s suit, including the helmet, simply opened and fell from him.

Propelled as much by the pressure that the water exerted as by his own powerful strokes, Locke shot to the surface.

The day was perfect and the bay was calm.  For a few seconds Locke floated, drawing the air into his starving lungs.  Then he raised himself and gazed about him.  At first glance everything seemed the same except for the fact that, whereas before his own boat had been alone, there were now two.  Then Locke heard an agonizing call for help—­from Eva.

After he had gone over the side of their launch Eva was naturally very intent upon keeping him plentifully supplied with air.  He had been down some time before, glancing about, she had spied the other launch.  But at the time she had thought little of it.  For her, all thought of danger was centered on the man who was now risking his life many fathoms beneath her from pure motives of patriotism.

It was only, some minutes later, when she heard the grating of another boat against the side of her own that she realized that she herself stood in danger.  But even at that moment her thoughts were of Quentin, who now for the first time was wholly dependent on her efforts alone.  She looked up fearfully, and what she saw fairly congealed the blood in her veins.  Directing a murderous emissary to board Eva’s launch, in the cockpit of the other boat stood the Automaton!

Not for an instant did Eva cease her efforts at the pump.  But she shrieked with terror again and again.  Now, to add to that terror, the pressure on the air-pump suddenly ceased.  From the depths myriads of bubbles of air arose.

Knife in hand, the emissary leaped aboard and came toward her.  Automatically, frantically, she still turned the useless pump, while with her free arm she tried to ward off the poised knife.

Again her shriek for help echoed across the water—­and this time her call was answered.

Had she gone mad?  The voice that answered her was the voice of the man she loved.  Her brain reeled and she fell at the feet of the murderous thug.

Other cries, then shouts were now heard, for some fisher folk were putting out off shore to discover what all the tumult was about.

The Automaton made a hasty gesture to the emissary, who sprang back from his victim and leaped to his own launch, where, with his assistance, there was barely time to haul aboard the chief thug, who had been sent below to attack Locke.  The launch cast off and with ever-increasing speed headed down the river.

Locke was the first to arrive and climb over the side of the boat.  Dripping though he was, he took Eva in his arms and bathed her face, while by this time other craft arrived and friendly hands did all they could to care for them both.