"Plates are beginning to bend, captain," called Speake.
This was not particularly alarming, for the baulks would settle down to their work.
"Close the bulkhead doors, Dick!" called Matt.
"Aye, aye, old ship!" returned Dick, and sounds indicated that the order was immediately carried out.
"Sixty yards," called Clackett; "sixty-five, seventy——"
"Hold her so!" cried Matt.
"What is the danger point in the matter of flexion, captain?" asked Matt, turning to Nemo, Jr., whose gray head was bowed forward on his hand, while his gleaming eyes regarded the cool, self-possessed young motorist with something like admiration.
"Ten millimeters," was the answer.
"We still have a margin of three millimeters and are at the depth you indicated."
"Bravo! We are five yards from the bottom. Do a little cruising, Matt. Let us see how the Grampus behaves at this depth."