"Oh, it suits me," answered Dennis, knocking out his pipe. "I dare say there's no great risk, but it would feel sweet if the ship left us prowling on the bottom, eh?"
Pontifex grunted and went forward, being swallowed up in the fog that cloaked everything.
Having learned from Corny that the bottom was pretty dark, but by no means unsuited to working, Dennis called the steward. Although the little Cockney was a viperous criminal ashore, he was a faithful soul at sea, and Dennis had learned that he entertained a strong feeling of responsibility while watching the pumps.
"Hi, steward!" he called. "Come and give me a hand with this suit—and bring a couple of Kanakas to run these pumps, too. Corny's busy with the lines."
"Comin' sir," said the steward's voice, and the Cockney appeared a moment later.
Meantime, in the waist, Captain Pontifex was engaged in talk with the cook, while the Missus listened.
"Now's the time, Dumont," said Pontifex, fondling his curled mustache. "Work right along aft until you get on his line, savvy?"
"Mais oui!" returned Frenchy, his black eyes glittering. "But me, I like not this diable of a fog! It will be dark under the water."
"So much the better." And Pontifex smiled his cruel smile. "So much the better! He thinks I'm going down. Let the steward attend to his pumps—and we'll blame the steward for what happens. In this murky water he'll not see you coming down there—you can get on top of him and cut his lines and be off in a shot. Are you ready or not?"
"Yes!" exclaimed Frenchy, reaching for the diving-suit.