"After lunch," Tony said. "Don't you remember? A diver is supposed to rest after each dive. Relax, and I'll have some sandwiches ready in a few minutes."
All hands were hungry. Scotty stowed away four sandwiches and Rick did nearly as well. Then they started work on the compressor. It wasn't a hard job, but it was tedious, and nearly two hours elapsed before they finished. Each part had to be washed in soap and water, then carefully dried. Finally, the compressor was ready. They carried it to the boat, started the gas engine, and connected the tanks. But before the air started to flow, Rick carefully inspected the filter system to be sure that hadn't been tampered with too.
"You know," he observed, "these enemies Steve is hunting know a lot about sport diving."
Scotty considered. "They knew that tanks could be dangerous, and they knew that oil in a compressor is dangerous. You're right, Rick. They know plenty about it."
"But it doesn't do us much good to know that they know," Rick concluded. "Well, now what? It will be a few hours before all the tanks are charged."
"Where are Zircon and Tony?"
"Napping. We probably should join them."
"Not me. There's nothing to do after sundown but sleep. I'd like to take a walk and look the island over."
Rick sighed. "Always an eager beaver. I'll go with you, if you don't walk fast."
They turned north and walked up the beach. Somewhere off this stretch of beach was the Maiden Hand. But where? They strolled along leisurely, stopping now and then to examine some bit of beach flotsam. There were shells, but most of them were small and water worn.