Amos Fearless was of the opinion that if the Happy Hour was at all in that vicinity she must lie at the bottom of the valley.
The dark zone of waters was passed, and now they came into the light once more.
The water was warm and as clear as crystal, showing nothing of the dye and foam produced by the battle of the deep-sea monsters.
A number of curious fish sailed past the diving bell—fish which they had not seen before.
One was jet-black and shaped exactly like a pillow tied in the middle.
Another was red, white, and blue, with six eyes which shone like stars of silver.
"That's a regular starry-flag fish," was Dave's comment. "I wonder if we can take the sight of that for a good sign?"
"Let us hope so," answered Amos Fearless, in his sign language.
The old diver's voice was gradually improving, and that morning he had spoken a few words to Dave in a hoarse whisper.
At last they came in sight of that mossy plain, which, the day before, had almost been the scene of their death.