Not a sound broke the stillness, unless it was the beating of my heart. There was naught but silence and inky blackness—the silence of the tomb, the loneliness of death.
The air seemed to grow more close and stifling, and my breath came in quick, short gasps. Better any death than this gradual suffocation. If I could only let the water into the boat, and so die swiftly, it would be easier. And so I crawled across the floor. Once I touched him, and drew away; but by his side I found a wrench, and in the darkness I groped on, till I found the steps to the tower and felt for the glass.
Poor Vanity! the reigning passion with us all. I turned my head, so that the flying splinters of glass should not cut my face, and brought the wrench with all my force against the window. It resisted stoutly. But again and again I struck, until at last, with a crash, it flew outwards. And then, in that fraction of a second, so strong is the love of life, I wished I had held my hand.
But there came no torrent of water, only a rush of cold air, and I realized that I was on the surface of the ocean—realized that when the madman fell backwards upon the shattered switchboard he must have moved the lever. But night had fallen again, and so I had not known it.
Trembling the more now that there was hope of escape, I climbed on deck and waited for the dawn.
And with the first faint streaks upon the eastern horizon came rescue, for a French cruiser had seen us, and steamed down like the wind to examine Le Diable.
Yet, with it all, the madman kept his secret—and his coffin.
When the boat from the cruiser was but a yard away I glanced through the open man-hole, and saw that he was moving across the cabin below, and as I stepped upon the gunwale of the launch Le Diable sank like a stone from beneath my feet.