Short as the time had been since the first shock of the torpedo, the ship was already beginning to list heavily. The floor of the bathroom now sloped upwards steeply to the door.
The grating was very heavy, but in his excitement Ken swung it up as though it had been no more than a feather. Balancing it, he charged straight at the door.
The end of the grating struck the woodwork with a loud crash, but the result was not what Ken had hoped. Hinges and lock remained firm. One panel, however, was cracked and splintered.
He retreated again to make another attempt. But the list was growing heavier every moment. It was all he could do to keep his feet. Ugly, sucking noises down below told him that the water was rushing in torrents into the hold of the doomed ship.
There was no question of making a second charge. Balancing himself as best he could opposite the door, he pounded frantically at the cracked panel, and at the third blow it broke away, leaving a jagged hole.
But this was not large enough for him to put his head through—let alone his body. His one chance was that the key might still be in the lock.
Small blame to him that his heart was going like a trip-hammer as he dropped the useless grating and snatched up his lamp.
The list was now so heavy that he had to cling to the door, as he thrust his arm through the gap.
A gasp of relief escaped his lips as his fingers closed on the key. It turned, but even then the door would not open. It was wedged.
Ken made a last desperate effort, and managed to force it open. As he clawed his way through into the passage, the sea water came bursting up through the floor of the bathroom behind him.