EM EM : monthly magazine - 01.09.1941, Blaðsíða 34

u -
Tim
Wrciéa forwöa. ffé feovea not
a« two flghtere mlght leap towarfl
each other in a prize ring, but
slowly and ponderously, hampered
by our inflated suits, our weighted
ehoes, our heavy belts. 3
i The native struck flrst, lunging
With his knife held straight out
iike a fencer holds a foil. I must
have moved instlnctively; I know
I didn’t have time to think, to rea-
son that I could not parry such a
thrusL I dropped to my knees and
caught the blow on my metal
breastplate.
My owti knife swung upward in
a short arc. I felt and heard the
rip of heavy canvas. Then, with
the muddy darkness closing ín on
me, I dropped my knife and
caught the Andegoyan's right
wrist with both hands.
j Our helmets were touching now,
iand I could hear the native curs-
Jng. I knew that, although my
knife had not even pricked to the
man’s skin, I had him.
With his suit ripped open from
breastplate to belt, he could never
gain the surface alive. His pre-
cious air would escape. The pres-
eure of the sea, no longer equal-
ized by the pressure within his
suit, would force the upper part of
his body into his breastplate and
helmet. Divers call it a “squeeze.”
It isn’t a pleasant thing to think
about.
I hung to the native’s wrist
grimly, holding his knife away
from my own suit, waiting for
that terrific pressure of nearly 50
pounds to the square inch to do
its work. I had not long to wait.
The man’s struggles became more
and more feeble. At last they
ceased altogether.
Dropping the lifeless arm, I re-
laxed against the perpendicular
deck while I got my breath. I was
completely exhausted, more from
nervous strain than from physical
exertion. I barely had the
strength to reach up, close my air
valve and call to the deck. Hoff-
man was still at the phones.
“Ray! Are you all right?” he
shouted anxiously.
"Yes, I’m all right. I’ll be com-
Ing up as soon as I clear my
lines.”
"Is it—all over?”
"Yes. It’s all over. I’ll let you
know when I want a pull.”
I turned on my air again. Cau-
tiously inflating my suit until I
was almost light enough to float, I
pulled myselí up the steep deck by
my own llfe line. Soon above the
area of murky water, I saw that
both my lines and those of the na-
tive diver’s had fouled on a cargo
winch. T cleared ftll four lines
BUa CtDlicrQ
mtnout mucn onncuitj
for a pull to 40 feet.
I had been down, Hoffman told
me, for more than two hours.
Though the depth had not been
great, I knew I should take a full
hour’s decompression after such a
dive.
That part of the diver’s routine
has always irked me—and I’m not
alone—and as I hung suspended
40 feet below the surface, and ex-
ercised my arms and legs to drive
the nitrogen out of my blood, I
felt that never before in my life
had I so longed to see the sun and
to breath a goötr lungful of air un-
tainted by the oil of the compres-
sor. 1 had no deslre to come down
with the bends, however, so I
stayed the full hour at 40 feet.
When I was finally hauled
aboard the Whipple, I was worn
out and irascible. Dick Hoffman
had the good sense not to ask me
questions and, after my suit was
stripped off, I went down to the
wardroom and had a cup of coffee
and a good shot of whisky. Half
an hour later when I came up on
deck, feeling considerably better,
I saw that the Juarto had hauled
up her hook and was steaming to-
ward Caimora. <
"Did they get the body?” I
jaskeð.
! Dick nodded in silence.
j "Well, that’s that,” I growled.
“I guess we might as well go on
with the job. Have you a diver
you can send down if we blow
open the safe?”
“I’ve got Bill Jenson, gunner’s
mate flrst. He vvorked on the S-4
job, you know.”
"Yes. A good man. WeU, sup-
pose you close the circuit and blow
hcr open. I'll describe the situa-
tion to Jenson. He shouldn’t have
much trouble getting into that
room. Then I’m going to turn in
for an hour or so. I’m fagged out.”
I went to sleep in the command-
er’s cabin. It was just dusk when
Hoffman came in and woke me.
"Well, old socks,” Dick grinned,
“Jenson brought up two of your
precious bars of bullion.”
I swung to my íeet, feeling im-
measurably better after my sleep.
“Good stuff! Where are they?
Let’s see ’em.”
"Out on the wardroom table.
Come on.”
We went to the wardroom. Two
canvas sacks lay on the table. I
hefted one of them. "Boy, they’re
certainly heavy!”
“Ever see gold that wasn’t?”
Hoffman grinned.
I looked at him sharply, "I
wonder .” .......- - • -
I i ruirtmec witn tne ðrawstrlng
jftt the top of the bag. It came
junfastened and I jerked the sack
off the bar. The “gold bullion” was
dull gray.
f "WeU, I’U be hanged!” Dick
Hoffman cried, “It’s lead!”
CHAPTER IX
WHEN I CAME up on the
bridge that evening the Whipple
was making 30 knots through an
oily sea and the lights of Caim-
ora were just rising over the hor-
izon. Dick Hoffman strolied over
to me.
"Well, Ray, it looks now aa
though it was just an ordinary
robbery,” he remarked. "The gold
was stolen in the bank and those
lead bars substituted. The plot-
ters sank the Alderbaro.. so that
the crime wouldn’t be discovered.
The only hitch in their plans came
when the liner went down in shoal
water. Your friend, Capt. Huertas,
was evidently in on the plot. Na-
turally, he did his best to prevent
the recovery of the phoney bul-
lion. It strikes me that virtually
everything is explained.”
I shook my head impatiently.
"On the contrary, Dick, everything
has become more complicated.
The engineering of this plot took
careful planning, it took organiza-
tion, it took self-sacr'"ce—as wit-
ness the man, Carretos possibly,
who opened th« Alderbaron’s sea
cocks. N
"Look at it another way. Car-
retos must be at the bottom of this
affair, because the gold passed
through his hands. Now why
would a man of his position mix
into a sordid business like this?
He has more money than he can
ever possibly spend. I tell you,
Dick, it isn’t human nature for a
man to risk his freedom, to sanc-
tion the murder of innocent peo-
ple, to take part in such a hor-
ribíe crime, solely to steal some
gold which he actually cannot use.
No, I tell you we’ve got to find
some other motive, and a lot
stronger motive than avarice.”
“Well, maybe Col. Baird will bej
able to figure it out,’" Hoffmanj
suggested.
“That’s what I’m counting on.”i
* • *
It was nine that evening whenj
,1 arrived at the legation and wasj
shown into the colonel’s study.j
;The minister shook hands eagerlyj
; “Well, what luck, lieutenant?"j
: “Bad luck, I guess you’d call lt,(
colonel. The gold bullion which
the Alderbaron was carryingj
'tufped out to leftd.”
. . ----------- --------J