"It is getting colder!" exclaimed the inventor as he glanced at an instrument near him. "It is fifteen below zero now!"
In truth the Monarch was far to the north. She had gone faster than the inventor calculated. A glance downward showed that all traces of civilization had been left behind.
There was nothing to be seen but snow and ice, ice and snow, piled in fantastic heaps,—mountains, ridges, hills and valleys.
The professor hastily made a few calculations.
"I believe we are somewhere over Greenland or Baffin Bay, but whether we are over the land or sea I cannot tell. At any rate we are still going north," and he glanced at the compass.
They were about to retrace their steps to the dining cabin, when there was a sudden settling of the Monarch. It seemed to be plunging downward.
"What's the matter?" cried Jack.
The inventor hurried to the engine room. A glance at the registering needle of the instrument for telling the height attained, showed that the ship was sinking fifty feet a minute.
"Some conglomerous contraption has disproportionated herself," cried
Washington. "What shall I do, Perfessor?"
"Start the gas generator at full speed!" cried the inventor. "Heat the vapor before it goes to the bag! The cold has contracted the gas in the holder above so that it will no longer support us! Work quick, Washington!"