It was the face of Chanley Beddoes, the lost second torpooner of the Narwhal.
Ken stared, his body rigid. Chan Beddoes! The dead brought back! So it at first seemed. And here, in a cavern of the blubber-men!
He pulled himself further up on the rock pile, unfastened the clasps on his helmet and took it off—for Beddoes wore none, and that meant the space was filled with breathable air.
"Chan!" he said. "And we were sure you were dead!"
A high-pitched, hysterical voice cried in answer!
"It's you, Ken! They got you too! Oh, but it's good to see you! It's been so lonely, so dark.... You are there, Ken? I'm not just dreaming again?"
Ken realized that the other's nerves were shot, and he replied gently:
"You're not dreaming, Chan. I'm here with you now. Steady. Take it easy. Lord, this air—it's pretty foul, but it smells good to me, and it'll save our units. How ever do they get it down here?" He asked the question in hope of steadying Beddoes; giving his mind something definite to occupy it.
A soft ripple sounded just then; looking round, Ken saw that his two guards had slipped back beneath the water, leaving them alone.