Wrenching the kapitan's hand from the rail, Devereux dropped him to the deck like a sack of flour, then, skipping down the bridge ladder, he picked him up and carried him, screaming and struggling, down the companion.
Guided by the sounds, the sub bore his captive for'ard, two of the submarine's crew following their youthful officer.
Already the stern of the Kondor was almost level with the water, while her decks inclined at a steep angle. Above the noise of the inrushing water and the hiss of escaping steam, could be heard the now frantic appeal for help.
At the door of the cell Devereux was confronted by a grave problem. The place was locked, and the kapitan, asserting truthfully that he did not possess a key, was clamouring incoherently that the mistake in overlooking the fact that there were prisoners below was not his, but that of some of his subordinates.
"Stand aside there!" shouted Devereux to the inmates of the cell.
Whipping out his revolver he sent a bullet crashing through the lock, then, heedless of the cry of agony that came from the German skipper, he charged the splintered door with his shoulder.
In the half light he was dimly aware that two people were scrambling between the debris.
"Any more?" he asked.
"No," was the reply, as the two rescued men, assisted by the sailors, reeled along the sloping alley-way to the ladder.
Having seen the would-be victims of German Kultur safely on their way to the upper deck, Devereux realized that it was quite time to make good his own escape, for the water was beginning to surge for'ard along the sombre orlop deck. As he turned to make his way aft he became aware that the kapitan, moaning dismally, was staggering in the opposite direction, whence there was no outlet.