Jupiter heard her move toward the edge of the wall. "No! Wait! I'll go first—"
But the Caligan girl had already leaped outward into the thick wet darkness.
Jupiter felt suddenly cold all over. He knew that he would never smell salt water again without recalling the horrible expectancy of that moment. Time stood still. Then far below they heard a splash!
"Tabak!" he called softly. He gave her time to rise to the surface. "Tabak!" He didn't dare lift his voice.
There was no answer. Just the monotonous lap of the water against the sea wall.
"God!" he thought. "She's hurt herself!" And he sprang outward into the encompassing blackness.
He seemed to fall for an eternity before he struck. It was like hitting a plank. The jar ran up his legs. He went down, down, half-dazed. Then he was clawing frantically to the surface.
He broke water. He could see nothing. It was like the bottom of a well.
"Tabak! Tabak! Where are you?"
His fingers touched something. It was the girl's shoulder. She was moving feebly, half-conscious. Treading water, he seized her, slid his arm across her chest, began to tow her away from the wall.