“Something mighty funny is happening near us,” he told Commander Ford. “My microphones are picking up all kinds of noises within the last two minutes.”
A slight tremor ran through the hull of the S-18.
Commander Ford shouted into the telephone.
“Charlie! Russ! Return at once! Don’t attempt to bring out the rest of the gold. Hurry!”
There was another slight movement. Men looked at each other in amazement and fear. Out of the darkness came the divers. Charlie Gill had a treasure chest. Russ Graham’s arms were empty. Into the protection of their diving compartment they stumbled. With a clang the outer doors snapped shut.
“We’re getting back to the surface as soon as possible and away from the hull of the Southern Queen at once,” snapped Commander Ford.
Men hastened back to their posts, but before they could get there, the S-18 moved again. From the outside there was the sound of metal scraping against metal. Then silence.
They took their places, diving planes were adjusted for the ascent and orders flew from Commander Ford’s lips. The electric motors purred smoothly. Compressed air hissed into the ballast tanks, blowing the water out to lighten the submarine. Tim, watching the depth gauge, waited for the needle to move.
Earl Bell came into the control room.
“You might as well shut off the motors and save the air,” he said dully. “That last shock put a part of the hull of the Southern Queen on top of us. We’re trapped.”