“I enter a small opening in the side of my ship—a sort of niche that opens inside. The inner door is then hermetically sealed. I am in a sort of closet. By means of valves, water is then admitted until it equals the pressure outside. The outer door is then opened, and I can step upon the bottom of the sea. I carry about with me, on my back, a tank of compressed air, so I have no need of the air hose ordinarily used by divers.”
“Say! That’s great!” cried Jerry, almost wishing he could try on one of the suits.
“All ready now!” called the doctor, and one of the machinists began taking out a diving dress from a compartment. It was a heavy affair, with lead-soled shoes, and it took two men to help the doctor into it. In appearance it was not unlike the usual diving dress, save that the helmet was more complicated, as it had to be because of its detachment from the usual air hose.
The doctor was soon encased in his modern suit of water-armor, and with the screwing shut of his helmet he could no longer communicate with his men except by signs. But they understood him.
The boys were fascinated by the strangeness of the proceeding, and hardly stopped to consider their position. Nor did they realize that they were resting upon the bottom of the sea.
Dr. Klauss moved slowly toward a steel-studded door in the side of the engine room. It opened, disclosing a closet-like compartment. Beyond the outer door of this was the sea, pressing with enormous force.
Dr. Klauss made a sign—he seemed to be bidding farewell to those in the submarine. Then he stepped into the compartment, the door was shut and sealed. Jerry and his chums drew long breaths. They had not realized the nervous strain they were under.
An instant later there was a hissing sound, as the water rushed in through the valves. It lasted only a short time. Then came a slight click.
“He is out!” exclaimed Ted Rowland.
Dr. Klauss was walking around on the bottom of the ocean!