Unlike the first man to descend, whose helmet had been closed only when he was waist-deep in water, the Sub had to be finally equipped while in the boat. Assisted by the attendants—for his movements were hampered by the weight of his helmet, chemical-containers, chest and back weights, and leaden-soled boots, the whole amounting to 190 lb.—Broadmayne scrambled awkwardly and ponderously over the gunwale, grasped the shot-line used by his predecessor and began the descent.
In spite of the weight of the dress in air, it now had so little weight in water that the Sub had no difficulty in retarding the downward movement. Even the inconvenience caused by the unaccustomed air supply passed away after a few seconds.
Presently his leaden-soled feet touched the bed of the Bahia Arenas so lightly that he could hardly credit that he was standing on a floor of hard sand. So transparent was the water that he had no difficulty in seeing objects five or six yards off, all grotesquely distorted and exaggerated.
Grasping the second of the three distance lines, the Sub commenced his submarine walk, following the cord that the first diver had paid out. Evidently the man had not erred in his sense of direction, for the line lay motionless on the sandy floor. All around were pieces of jagged steel-plating, copper pipes and other débris from the ill-fated Alerte.
Presently an enormous dark grey mass loomed up in front. It was the hull of the pirate submarine. The seaman-diver, with bubbles rising from his helmet, was standing by. His job lay outside the hull; Broadmayne's and that of the third diver, inside.
In less than two minutes the third member of the party appeared. The first man, turning to reassure himself that his air-tube and life-line were clear of the jagged plates, worked round towards the stern. It was here that the full force of the powerful depth-charge had expended itself. Thirty feet or more of the after-portion of the submarine had been completely blown apart, together with most of the propelling machinery. There was not the slightest doubt about the destruction of the after-part of the submarine. It remained to be seen whether the water-tight bulkhead separating the motor-room from the 'midship and fore compartment had withstood the strain.
Signing to his similarly-equipped companion to follow him, Broadmayne clambered up the sloping side of the considerably-listing vessel. The ease with which he performed this feat rather surprised him.
Once again the Sub trod the deck—or, rather, what remained of the deck of the Alerte. The bridge had disappeared and the whole of the bulwarks and deck aft, leaving bare a full fifty feet of the massively-built submarine hull to where it terminated abruptly in a jagged edge of twisted steel. Most of the raised fo'c'sle had been blown away by shell-fire before the Alerte submerged, but between the rise of the fo'c'sle and the conning-tower, which was practically intact, the false deck was still in position.
Making his way to the forehatch—it was originally the torpedo-hatch—Broadmayne tried to open it. Being secured from below, the metal cover resisted his efforts. Foiled in that direction, the Sub retraced his steps to the conning-tower hatchway. As he did so, a dark object above the rail attracted his attention. It was Cain's ensign—the skull and cross-bones—still lashed to a boathook. When the Alerte submerged, the natural tendency of the ash stave was to float, but the metal hook engaging in one of the shrouds of the housed foremast had held it down. Even the explosion of the depth-charge had failed to dislodge it.
Drawing his knife, Broadmayne cut the emblem of piracy adrift and secured it to his belt. Then he resumed his investigations.