“Go—go down alone?” Johnny asked, feeling a bit strange. “That—oh, that’s O.K., I guess.”
“I was down this morning,” said Dave, “and my eyes are tired. There are some pictures I’d like to have. Conditions below are all right, and there’s an off-shore breeze. We’ve two lines out to windward, which should hold her steady.
“What the professor would like,” he went on in a businesslike tone, “is to have you go down, slowly, along that submerged cliff, stopping every ten feet to take a photo floodlight picture. That will give us a continued story of plant and animal life, down to perhaps two thousand feet.”
“Al—all right,” Johnny agreed. “I can do that.” But for the life of him he could not still his heart’s wild beating. He seemed to be hearing a voice say:
“We will strike—at the earliest possible moment!”
He forced his lips to repeat: “Two thousand feet, you say?”
“About that. Better get ready at once. The wind may pick up.”
“Yes, it may stri—pick up,” Johnny agreed a little absently.
Twenty minutes later, inside the steel ball and busy taking pictures of the wall as he stopped each ten feet, he had all but banished thoughts of the green arrow from his mind.
* * * * * * * *