And so it was. As they stood there waiting, the light grew brighter and brighter. Then a long, sleek form, dark as the night, slid alongside the Sea Nymph.
“Ahoy there!” a voice called.
“Ahoy!” Dave echoed. “We’ll send our small boat for you at once”
Ten minutes later, the young commander of the American submarine was on board.
“What’s the situation?” he demanded, briskly.
“They’re down here, about two hundred feet,” said Dave. “Their pumps won’t work and they can’t get up!”
“That’s it, eh? It sounds bad.” The young officer’s voice was somber. “I suppose you assumed we had a diver on board, and—until three days ago—we did have. But now he’s in the hospital with a raging fever!”
“Might I inquire,” the professor asked, slowly, “what a diver would do?”
“Certainly,” said the officer. “We have three hundred feet of hose. Somewhere on the side of their sub, if it’s anything like ours, is a short piece of pipe with a thread on it, to which our hose could be attached. After that—when they have opened an inner valve—we can pump in enough air to float them. But without a diver—”
“I,” said the professor, “am a diver. Have you the equipment?”