JACK STRIKES THE KEY TO THE MYSTERY

“Down below!  Down, down, down!” croaked Bill Henderson.

He pointed below, with one forefinger, laughing wildly.  The others, sure that the seaman had lost his mind under the crushing force of the catastrophe, felt pity for him, though the man’s actions and words also helped to increase their own terror.

To cap the climax Henderson got painfully to his feet and tried to dance a jig.  That was carrying things too far in the then state of mind of the rest of the company.

“Henderson, confound you,” cried Captain Jack, half savagely, as he rose, “keep quiet and sit down!  Act like a man.  You—­”

To emphasize his order the young captain pushed against the seaman’s breast, intent on shoving him into a seat.  Just as he did so, Captain Jack paused aghast, for an instant.  Then he shouted hoarsely: 

“Friends, I’ve found the wrench!”

That brought them all to their feet, while Bill Henderson snarled in sudden rage.

“This man has it hidden away in the inside pocket of his coat!” cried the young captain of the “Pollard.”  “Help me to take it away from him while we’ve enough life left to act!”

With another snarl Bill Henderson crouched, in the attitude of a football player, to meet the impending assault.

Five of them swarmed upon him, from all sides.  Had not all of them been near to dying from air starvation the conflict would have been a savage one.  As it was, the fight, although a relatively weak one, was as strenuous as any of the combatants could make it.

Henderson, ordinarily a powerful brute capable of fighting three or four ordinary men, still endeavored to do his very best.

Back and forth they fought, rolling over each other, and every moment burning up more and more of the air that was left to them.

Yet at last Captain Jack, aided by the others, succeeded in snatching the wrench from the seaman’s inner pocket.

“Hold him,” cried Benson, getting weakly up, tottering over to one of the compressors.  “Give me a minute—­and some—­strength—­and I’ll give us a taste—­of real air.”

Desperately he fitted the wrench, tried to give it a sufficient turn, and could not.

“I’ll help you,” hoarsely croaked dying Hal, reaching out and getting the weight of his hands also on the wrench.  Never before had either boy struggled so desperately hard for anything.  At last it yielded, ever so little.  There was a hiss of escaping compressed air.

Then they got a taste of it.  Oh, how nectarlike that air was!  Renewed strength began to course through their arteries and to creep into their muscles.  Two deep breaths apiece, and then Jack and Hal succeeded in making a good turn.  A moment later they were able to make another twist, that set the pneumatic apparatus in operation to expel the bad air through sea valves.