With a quick motion, he threw in the switch and at that moment Frank’s ringing shout of joy filled the room.
But before Henry could call to Tom, before he could utter a sound, hurrying, tramping footsteps echoed from the dock, the door burst inwards with a bang and into the room leaped Mr. Pauling. Beside him was a heavy-jawed man with drawn pistol and over his shoulder through the open doorway the boys saw the visored caps and blue coats of police.
“They’re safe!” yelled Frank, trying to make his voice heard above the excited, shouted interrogations of Mr. Pauling. “We just heard them.”
Mr. Pauling leaped towards the open trapdoor, the police crowding at his heels. Henry dropped his instruments and joined them and all crowded forward.
A shadow seemed to hover in the dull water and a slender affair of wire broke the surface.
“They’re here!” screamed Frank.
“Thank God!” echoed Mr. Pauling fervently.
Hardly had the words of thankfulness left his lips when he uttered a startled cry, and, throwing himself face downward at the edge of the trapdoor, plunged his arms into the swirling water. The dim shadowy form of the diver whose helmet had just appeared, had swayed to one side; his hands, clutching the upper rungs of the ladder, had loosened their grasp, his arms had wavered and had taken a feeble stroke as if trying to swim and from the receiver on the table had issued a despairing cry, a choking, gurgling groan, ending in a gasp.
Whether the swaying, half-floating form was
Tom or Rawlins, Mr. Pauling could not know, for in the suits identity was lost, but trained as he was through long years in a service where to act instinctively meant life or death, he instantly dropped to the floor and clutched at the dim figure beneath. Had he delayed for the fraction of a second he would have been too late, but, as it was, his fingers closed on one of the diver’s wrists. The next instant he had grasped the other arm and a moment later, with Henderson’s aid, he had dragged the dripping, limp form onto the dock and the two men were cutting the suit and helmet from the unconscious form. But they already knew it was Tom. The boy’s limbs projecting from the short tunic had proved this and Mr. Pauling’s face was white and strained as they dragged the khaki-colored garment and the helmet from his son.